Highland Redemption: A Duncurra Legacy Novel 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

  Epilogue

  Highland Redemption

  A Duncurra Legacy Novel

  By

  Ceci Giltenan

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, locations and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Any actual locations mentioned in this book are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  All rights are retained by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction, sharing, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Copyright 2017 by Ceci Giltenan

  www.duncurra.com

  Cover Design: Earthly Charms

  ISBN-10: 1-942623-56-9

  ISBN-13: 978-1-942623-56-4

  Produced in the USA

  Dedication

  To Barbara, you are stronger and braver than any Highland warrior I could ever imagine.

  To Lily and Kathryn, you raise me up.

  And, to my beloved husband, Eamon. I couldn’t do this without you.

  Acknowledgements

  I owe a huge thank you to my all my beta readers, especially Virginia, Susan, Sarah, Patricia, Melz, Lisa, Kathryn, Eileen, Dharti, Ann, Annie, Annie and April, who provided early feedback. This book is better because of you.

  A special thanks to beta reader Shannon Leupp who provided some interesting historical background about the Hanseatic League.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Other Books by Ceci Giltenan

  About Duncurra

  Other titles published by Duncurra LLC

  “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.

  Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

  ~ Martin Luther King Jr.,

  “Love Your Enemies” Sermon (1957)

  Prologue

  Cotharach Castle, Clan Ruthven

  January 26, 1367

  Ambrose Ruthven knelt by the bed, holding his wife’s hand. Moibeal had drawn her last breath earlier that morning, but he hadn’t been able to leave her. Somehow, to release her hand would be to let her go, and he wasn’t ready for that—he’d never be ready for that. They hadn’t had enough time. Seven years was not nearly enough time. He relived memory after memory, unwilling to accept that they were all he had left.

  He remembered when he’d first met Moibeal.

  He’d gone to court, representing Clan Ruthven for his brother, Ainsley, Laird Ruthven.

  “While you’re there, find yourself a bride, brother,” Ainsley told him.

  Twenty-eight at the time, Ambrose hoped to do just that, to find a suitable wife among the courtiers. Ainsley had given Ambrose a list of clans with which he would like to forge a closer bond.

  But Ainsley, having lost his own wife three years earlier, had become sentimental. “Life is short, brother, too short. An alliance with one of these families would be ideal, but if you meet a lass who pleases you, I’ll see what I can do.”

  At the time, Ambrose thought his brother was a fool. Ambrose would certainly look for a wife, but as a second son, he wanted a wealthy wife or one that would bring him a title. That was until he’d met Moibeal Dundas. Clan Dundas was not on Ainsley’s list. Neither were they exceedingly wealthy and, as the daughter of the laird’s youngest brother, Moibeal didn’t hold a title.

  But she instantly held Ambrose’s heart. She took his breath away. She had a soft curvaceous figure, thick chestnut-colored hair, and green eyes that always seemed to be filled with laughter. At eighteen, she was ten years his junior. Still, as noble marriages went, that was no real difference at all. He had been completely smitten with her and to his delight, she seemed fond of him too.

  So, true to his word, Ainsley contacted Laird Dundas requesting a meeting to discuss a betrothal. Laird Dundas travelled to Cotharach with Moibeal and her parents. When they arrived, they’d seemed happy and open to the prospect of a marriage. Ainsley had greeted them with a grand feast and at the end of the evening, everyone was in high spirits. Ambrose believed that by the next day, he would be betrothed to the woman he adored.

  But that didn’t happen. Laird Dundas had misunderstood Ainsley’s request. He thought Ainsley himself was seeking her hand, which would have made Moibeal Lady Ruthven. Ainsley had explained that he still mourned his late wife. He was not ready to marry now, and perhaps never would be.

  However, absolutely certain he would never marry again, Ainsley made Laird Dundas an offer so generous, it had utterly astounded Ambrose at the time. “Laird Dundas, I only have a daughter and as I don’t intend to marry again, it is unlikely I’ll ever have a son. I will stipulate that if Ambrose and Moibeal do have a son, my title will pass to Ambrose, and then his son. Even without a title, though, as you are well aware, my brother is a wealthy man in his own right. He has built an extremely successful shipping business and would be an excellent husband for Moibeal.”

  Laird Dundas wanted none of it. He believed that in a few years, Ainsley’s grief would ease, he would take a wife, and could possibly have a son of his own then. He didn’t care that Ambrose was wealthy. The only betrothal the laird would consider was one with Ainsley.

  And that was that. They left, taking with them Ambrose’s hopes of happiness.

  Moibeal was married to Raghnall Napier, Laird Napier’s heir, just after Epiphany. And as if fate were laughing at Ambrose, Ainsley died less than a month later, making Katherine, Ainsley’s thirteen-year-old daughter, Lady Ruthven. Ambrose would only act as Laird on her behalf, the title of Laird Ruthven ultimately going to whomever she married. Ambrose inherited all of the headaches wi
th none of the benefits.

  After that, whenever he saw Moibeal, his heart ached and jealousy for Raghnall Napier burned in his gut. Worse, the laughter in her eyes had been replaced by same wistful longing he suspected was in his own gaze. Seeing her miserable tore at his heart.

  Ambrose became angry and bitter. Eventually, he realized the only way he would ever benefit from the mess destiny had dealt him was if his niece never married. At least then he would become Laird Ruthven. So, ensuring that eventuality became his goal.

  Finally, a few years later, fate took a turn in his favor. Moibeal became a widow. Raghnall and, tragically, their young son, both succumbed to illness. Ambrose had another chance at happiness, but only if he could wrest full leadership of the clan from Katherine’s hands. He redoubled his efforts, even seeking the aid of King David II. By some miracle, the king found a husband for Katherine, Niall MacIan, who would renounce her titles and lands. MacIan was the laird of an impoverished Highland clan, with a title and lands of his own, but desperately in need of funds.

  Ambrose had finally been able to marry the heart of his heart mere months after his niece had been packed off to the Highlands. So grateful was he to his king, Ambrose had vowed to name their first child David.

  He smiled at the memory as he gripped her cold hand tighter. “Do you remember that, my love? I was certain you were carrying a lad. You actually laughed the first time I held the wee sprite. I had to settle for naming her Davida.”

  He could almost hear the laughter that had delighted him so. “It wasn’t enough time, my love. We were supposed to grow old together. How can I let you go?” His voice broke on a sob and he finally gave into the tears he’d been fighting for hours. How could he possibly continue on without her?

  The door to the chamber opened and Ambrose whirled around to roar at whomever dared disturb him, but the chastisement died on his lips. It was his lovely six-year-old daughter, Davida.

  “Papa? Are you still saying goodbye to mama?”

  “Aye, Vida.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Aye, my wee darling.”

  She slipped quietly into the room and crossed to his side. He put one arm around her and kissed the top of her head. She wrapped both her small arms around him, rested her cheek on his chest, and looked at her mother. “Mama was very pretty, wasn’t she?”

  “Aye,” he choked on a sob. “Aye, she was.”

  “I loved mama and mama loved us. She said she did.”

  Ambrose trembled, unable to do anything but nod.

  “But you know what else she said, Papa?”

  “What else did she say, precious?”

  “She said she didn’t want to go, but she had to leave us and not to worry about her because she would be with the angels. I asked her if I could go with her and she said no. She said you needed me to stay here and be your angel.”

  Of course, she would have said that. He could almost hear her now, telling him, “You must go on, my love. You must go on for Vida. It’s time to let me go now.”

  He sighed heavily and, letting go of Moibeal’s hand, wrapped both arms around his daughter, the living, breathing angel his wife had given him. “That’s right, Vida. Mama is with the angels, but we have each other.”

  He stood, lifting Vida as he did. He walked with her to the door, turning to look back one last time. “Goodbye, my love. I will miss you.”

  Chapter 1

  October 4, 1378

  On the road, north of Perth

  It was a clear, crisp evening and the moon was bright enough to illumine the road ahead of them, for which Tomas MacIan was thankful. This was their second day of travel and with the light of the moon, they could ride for several more hours before stopping for the night. The journey from Edinburgh to Duncurra could take up to seven days this time of the year, so the longer they rode tonight, the better.

  He was never happier to be on the way home to Duncurra, than when he was leaving the royal court. At twenty-six, he had attended court several times before, but he never enjoyed it. The ride home was always his favorite part. This trip, like the others, had been to deliver the taxes Clan MacIan owed the crown. However, Laird Niall MacIan, the man who had adopted Tomas over nineteen years ago, usually made the journey too. This time he hadn’t and Tomas was the official representative for Clan MacIan.

  But because transporting large sums of money was always risky, they usually made the trip together with representatives from other, closely allied clans. This year Clan Carr and Clan MacLennan rode with them. Altogether, they were a band of eighteen well-trained warriors and much too great a force to be set upon by thieves. Of course, on the road home there was less fear of that, as the taxes had been paid and they didn’t carry a significant amount of gold.

  Laird Carr, who by virtue of his rank was the group’s leader, slowed his horse and held up a hand signaling silence.

  When their own company grew quiet, Tomas heard men yelling and the clanging of swords from somewhere ahead of them.

  Laird Carr frowned. “Someone’s been set upon by highwaymen, likely at the crossroads ahead. We’ll lend our aid.” He drew his sword and kicked his horse into a gallop, motioning for them to follow.

  They reached the crossroads in a minute, and sure enough, about a half of a mile down the road leading west, a carriage had been waylaid by a band of thieves. As the Highlanders rode hard towards them, Tomas surveyed the scene.

  The men guarding the coach were not only outnumbered, but they had inferior skills. A nobleman, evidently one of the carriage occupants, stood fighting a bandit at one entrance, even as another of the miscreants entered the other side, pulling a woman from it. She screamed and fought until the man backhanded her hard enough to stun her. Before she recovered, he had her on the back of a horse, riding away from the scene.

  Tomas became furious. Seeing one of them strike a woman was enough to confirm for him who the villains were. When they reached the carriage, he skirted the battling men and continued racing down the road after the pair.

  The kidnapper, riding double on a poorer mount, was easy to catch. Perhaps realizing it was his only hope of success, the man shoved the lass off the horse, drew his sword, and turned to fight Tomas.

  “Ye’ve already lost this battle, man,” said Tomas. “Throw down yer weapon.”

  “I don’t think I will,” said the man, brandishing his sword, ready for a fight.

  Tomas was deadly with a sword. He’d been trained by his uncle Fingal, who was one of the best swordsmen in the Highlands. Tomas would give the man one more chance. “This is yer last warning. Surrender, or die.”

  “Not today. That prize is worth fighting for and I suspect I can best a Highland pup.”

  It was the last mistake the highwayman ever made.

  Tomas cut him down in mere moments. Then he immediately turned his attention to the woman who had moved off the road into the trees. She stood, holding on to a tree trunk for dear life. On closer inspection, Tomas realized “woman” was a bit of an exaggeration. She was young, no older than his sister Beitris who had just turned eighteen.

  Tomas jumped off his mount and strode toward her. “Are ye hurt, lass?”

  Her eyes were wide and frightened. She shook her head, stumbling backwards a step.

  Not wishing to scare her more, he stopped several paces away from her. “Ye’ve nothing to fear. I’ll not harm ye.” He held his hand out to her. “Come then, I’ll take ye back to yer carriage. I suspect the other thieves have been dealt with.”

  She looked at him warily for a moment, then took a step toward him and winced.

  “Ye are hurt.”

  “Aye. A little. I hurt my ankle when I hit the ground after he shoved me off the horse.”

  “I’ll carry ye then.” Before she could object, he had closed the distance between them and lifted her into his arms. She was small and delicate and smelled of roses. He carried her to his great black warhorse, Duff. “Steady now, lad, we have a precious carg
o.”

  He lifted her onto the beast’s back and mounted behind her. “I’m going to put an arm around ye, to steady ye, lass.”

  She nodded before casting a sidelong glance at the dead highwayman. She shuddered and looked away.

  Tomas clicked to Duff. Better just to get her away from here.

  As they approached the carriage, the scene was no better. The thieves all lay dead. Most of the men who had been guarding the carriage were injured. But none of the Highlanders traveling with Tomas had so much as a scratch. They were patching up the wounded and dragging the dead off the road.

  When the nobleman saw Tomas approach, he ran towards them.

  “My precious lass. Thank God, you’re safe.” He lifted her down.

  “Papa,” she cried, wrapping her arms around him.

  He kissed her forehead tenderly. Then, turning to look up at Tomas, said, “Thank you, sir. I am forever in your debt for saving my daughter.”

  The moon illuminated the man’s face and Tomas’s blood chilled. It was Ambrose Ruthven, his adoptive mother’s uncle and the man who had nearly beaten her to death over nineteen years ago. Tomas’s back also bore the scars of Ruthven’s whip.

  “Who are you, lad?” Ruthven asked.

  Tomas was not about to tell Ambrose Ruthven who he really was. He answered “Sir Tomas…MacHenry.”

  The other men who traveled with him gave him surprised looks. Well, it wasn’t totally untrue. Tomas’s natural father and grandfather were both named Henry. But Ruthven didn’t need to know that. Ruthven also didn’t need to know that both men had worked in the stables at Cotharach Castle their whole lives, as had Tomas until the age of seven.

  “Thank you, Sir Tomas. I’m Laird Ambrose Ruthven, and this is my daughter, Lady Vida.” He turned towards the other men. “I owe you all a great debt. How is it you happened to be on the road this night?”