The Highlander's Wicked Ways, page 1
Series by Julie Johnstone
Scottish Medieval Romance Books:
Spellbound Hearts
The Lairds Magical Lass, Book 1
The Highlander’s Enchanted Healer, Book 2
The Highlander’s Wicked Ways, Book 3
Return of the Highlanders
Secrets of a Highlander’s Heart, Book 1
Tangled Up with the Highlander, Book 2
The Highlander Burns for Vengeance, Book 3
Wicked Willful Highlanders
Highlanders Hold Grudges, Book 1
Highlanders Never Surrender, Book 2
Highlanders Never Forget, Book 3
Of Mist and Mountains Series
Highland Hope, Book 1
Highland Reckoning, Book 2
Highland Prize, Book 3
Highland Heartbreaker, Book 4
Highlanders Through Time Series
Sinful Scot, Book 1
Sexy Scot, Book 2
Seductive Scot, Book 3
Scandalous Scot, Book 4
Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Series
When a Laird Loves a Lady, Book 1
Wicked Highland Wishes, Book 2
When a Highlander Loses His Heart, Book 3
How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady, Book 4
When a Warrior Woos a Lass, Book 5
When a Scot Gives His Heart, Book 6
When a Highlander Weds a Hellion, Book 7
How to Heal a Highland Heart, Book 8
The Heart of a Highlander, Book 9
Christmas in the Scot’s Arms, Book 10
Christmas Wishes of Love, Book 11
Renegade Scots Series
Outlaw King, Book 1
Highland Defender, Book 2
Highland Avenger, Book 3
Regency Romance Books:
Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Series
Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue, Book 1
Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid, Book 2
Lady Constantine and the Sins of Lord Kilgore, Book 3
Lady Frederica and the Scot Who Would Not, Book 4
A Whisper of Scandal Series
Bargaining with a Rake, Book 1
Conspiring with a Rogue, Book 2
Dancing with a Devil, Book 3
After Forever, Book 4
The Dangerous Duke of Dinnisfree, Book 5
A Once Upon A Rogue Series
My Fair Duchess, Book 1
My Seductive Innocent, Book 2
My Enchanting Hoyden, Book 3
My Daring Duchess, Book 4
Lords of Deception Series
What a Rogue Wants, Book 1
Danby Regency Christmas Novellas
The Redemption of a Dissolute Earl, Book 1
Season For Surrender, Book 2
It’s in the Duke’s Kiss, Book 3
Regency Anthologies
A Summons from the Duke of Danby (Regency Christmas Summons, Book 2)
Thwarting the Duke (When the Duke Comes to Town, Book 2)
Regency Romance Box Sets
A Very Regency Christmas
Three Wicked Rogues
Standalone Christmas Books
Christmas in the Duke’s Arms
The Highlander’s Wicked Ways
Spellbound Hearts, Book 3
by
Julie Johnstone
The Highlander’s Wicked Ways
Copyright © 2026 by Julie Johnstone, DBA Darbyshire Publishing, LLC
Cover Design by Dar Dixon
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
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
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Dedication
To all of you brave enough to believe in magic, possibility, and the power of love to heal.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
SERIES BY JULIE JOHNSTONE
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE – MUNRO
CHAPTER TWO – MURIEALL
CHAPTER THREE – MUNRO
CHAPTER FOUR – MURIEALL
CHAPTER FIVE – MUNRO
CHAPTER SIX – MURIEALL
CHAPTER SEVEN – MUNRO
CHAPTER EIGHT – MURIEALL
CHAPTER NINE – MUNRO
CHAPTER TEN – MURIEALL
CHAPTER ELEVEN – MUNRO
CHAPTER TWELVE – MURIEALL
CHAPTER THIRTEEN – MUNRO
CHAPTER FOURTEEN – MURIEALL
CHAPTER FIFTEEN – MUNRO
CHAPTER SIXTEEN – MURIEALL
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – MUNRO
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – MURIEALL
CHAPTER NINETEEN – MUNRO
CHAPTER TWENTY – MURIEALL
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – MUNRO
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – MURIEALL
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – MUNRO
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – MURIEALL
EPILOGUE – MUIREALL
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter One – Munro
Ross Stronghold
The Highlands, Scotland
The Year of Our Lord 1267
The woman beside me breathed softly, her arm slung across my chest. I stared up at the canopy of my bed and tried and failed to remember her name. That should have troubled me, but it didn’t.
I slid free of the bed, careful not to wake her. The floor was cold beneath my feet, the stone biting even through the haze of wine still clinging to my skull. I found my braies and tunic on the floor and put them on. The fabric of my tunic was stiff where wine had been spilled sometime during the night. Finally, I tugged my boots on. Everything took more effort than it should have.
Beyond my chamber, the wind moaned through cracks left untended. My family stronghold had always been drafty, perched high where the sea winds came hard and fast, but now the cold seemed to live in the walls themselves.
I heard the whispered rumbles of my neglect from my clansmen and servants. That should also have bothered me, but it didn’t either. Where my heart had been, where care had dwelled, emptiness now lived. If grief were a curse, mine was thorough.
A small, sharp, controlled cough carried up the stairwell as I stepped into the corridor, shutting the chamber door behind me. The torches burned low, shadows pooling thick in the corners. I rounded the bend to the stairs and nearly collided with my uncle. He was already dressed, of course. He always was. Clean tunic, red hair tied back neatly, the faint scent of soap and pine clinging to him like a virtue. He glanced at me, and his lips twitched. I was certain he was fighting one of his judgmental scowls. An emotion rippled through me then, not regret or embarrassment as I knew I should feel. Instead, my jaw clenched.
He cleared his throat, looking as if he were debating what to say. “How’s yer jaw?” he asked slowly.
I frowned and tested it, wincing as pain shot through it. What in God’s blood was this ache?
Uncle Gordon narrowed his gaze. “Ye do nae remember last night, do ye.”
It was a statement and a fact, given he was correct. “Did I get in a fight?”
“Aye, Munro,” he said. “Or rather, ye threw a punch at James.”
“I would nae ever—”
“Aye,” my uncle said, his tone grave. “Ye would, and ye did. Ye were quarrelling.”
I could count on one hand the number of times I’d quarreled with James in the twenty-plus years he’d been my closest friend, and that number was two. We’d argued when I’d become laird and made him my right hand. He was worried it would harm our friendship. It hadn’t. And then we’d argued over a battle plan. He’d been right, and in the end, I’d admitted it.
“What were we quarrelling over?”
Footsteps echoed suddenly in the hall, the clacking of shoes against the stone growing louder by the second. I looked down the corridor, and the fair-haired lass I’d left only a moment ago appeared.
“That woman,” my uncle said, motioning toward the buxom, young lass. With her disheveled hair and laces hanging open at her chest, it was obvious she’d been properly tumbled in my bed last night.
“James wouldn’t fight me over a lass,” I said. He had plenty of women clamoring to warm his bed.
“He did nae argue with ye because he wanted her,” Uncle Gordon replied. “He was trying to dissuade ye from taking Lady Francesca to yer bed.”
Her name tugged at a string in my memory, but it didn’t give. “Who the devil is she?” I asked, impatience rising.
He shook his head as if disgusted with my behavior. An old ripple akin to remorse moved through me, but I handily shoved it away. “She’s Isabella’s cousin.”
I recoiled at my uncle’s words. “That’s Francesca Gunn?”
“Aye,” he said, meeting my gaze.
I studied her for a moment. The last time I’d seen my wife’s cousin was when she’d come to pay her respects after Isabella had died. Unease stirred, mingling with surprising self-loathing. I was usually so adept at repressing emotions, but this morning they seemed to be battering me. “Is Isabella’s aunt here as well?” I asked my uncle.
“Nay,” came Lady Francesca’s voice.
My gaze met hers, and my disgust increased. She had the same light blue eyes as Isabella. How had I failed to register the similarities last night or remember her from meeting her after Isabella’s death? The answer came swiftly—my self-induced wine haze.
“My mama did nae come when the missive arrived at our home,” Lady Francesa said. “Da has been ill, and Mama feared leaving him.”
I frowned. “I’m sorry to hear of yer da’s illness,” I said, dragging my manners from the dusty corner they dwelled in these days. With that social expectation nicely met, I asked what I really wanted to, “What missive?”
“Ye left the bed this morning without telling me goodbye,” she said, instead of answering my question. She offered a practiced pout. “Last night, ye said ye would spend the day with me today.”
God’s blood. I had to have been deep in my cups to have said such a thing. “Apologies, Lady Francesca. I’ve clan duties in the great hall this morning.”
My uncle made a choking sound beside me, and no wonder. I rarely appeared in the great hall to fulfill my duties as laird and hear the weekly grievances from my clansmen anymore. There was no need. Uncle Gordon handled it better than I could these days.
“Then what of this afternoon?” she said, her pout growing.
“I’m afraid Munro has council business this afternoon.”
I had no intention of meeting with my meddling council, but I was more than glad to use the excuse now. “I beg apologies, Lady Francesa, but I should nae keep my clansmen waiting.”
“Tonight perhaps? I depart tomorrow morning for home,” she added, sweeping her gaze over me, and when her eyes met mine again, unmistakable hunger was there. I was more than happy normally to stoke a lass’s lust, but not this lass, not Isabella’s cousin. Last night’s encounter with her had been a wine-induced mistake, which James had apparently tried to stop.
“Mayhap,” I lied, nodded, and turned away before she could say more.
Uncle Gordon fell into step with me as I walked.
“Did ye send a missive requesting a report of the children?” I asked, still trying to puzzle out why Francesca was actually here.
“Nay,” Uncle Gordon replied. “If ye recall, Magdalene shared an update about Guinn and Bess with ye just two nights ago.”
I frowned. I didn’t recall my aunt having said anything about my children recently, and that was normally something I found hard to ignore, try as I might, and she was normally annoyingly persistent about my listening to her updates on Guinn and Bess. I searched my memory but found nothing. “Are both girls well?”
“Aye,” Uncle Gordon said as we made our way down the stone steps to the lower floor of the stronghold. “Bess is still sneaking down to the beach to watch the men train,” Uncle Gordon said with a chuckle. “And Guinn is a verra accomplished sewer for a lass of eight summers.”
“Excellent,” I murmured, hurrying my steps. I didn’t want to think about the girls, let alone talk about them. Doing so reminded me more than anything else of Isabella. I turned right at the landing but paused. “Why is Francesca here? If the children are doing well, why is she here?”
My uncle’s mouth tightened for a moment, but then he smoothed what looked to be irritation away and cleared his throat. “James took it upon himself to send a missive to Lady Isla, telling her to bring the lasses home.”
Memories of last night pelted my brain.
James telling me of the missive he’d sent without my permission. Me yelling. Then James. The clan retreating from the great hall. More harsh words between James and me. My fist hitting his eye. His fist connecting with my jaw.
I’d stumbled from the great hall and collided with a woman. Her face flashed, and I flinched. I’d nearly toppled Francesca over. How we ended up in my bedchamber was lost to me.
“I’m going to kill James!” I roared and started toward the great hall with thunderous steps.
“Munro!” Uncle Gordon called, but I kept going. “Munro!” he bellowed, close behind me.
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t have the girls here. I couldn’t see them every day and be reminded constantly of how I’d failed them and Isabella.
A hand clamped around my arm, and I jerked around. “Leave go,” I said through clenched teeth.
“I ken yer angry,” Uncle Gordon said. “James should nae have sent the missive, but he only meant to help ye and the lasses. And well…” Uncle Gordon shoved a hand through his hair. “Isabella would have wanted them here with ye—with us.”
“Do nae tell me what Isabella would have wanted,” I snarled, acutely aware of how unreasonable I was being. But talking of her hurt so damn much. Instantly, her image flashed in my mind—heart-shaped face, trusting blue eyes, lips always tugged upward with encouraging words. I squeezed my eyes shut. I needed a goblet of wine. Going too long without one was not wise. I concentrated on wine, on the next woman I would bed, on the endless quest to forget what I’d lost.
But it was too late. Guilt reached out to grab me and got hold of me. I opened my bleary eyes and looked at my uncle. “I should nae have given up searching for Isabella’s murderer.”
I could see my uncle’s jaw clench. “Ye searched for two years, Munro. Ye nearly drove yerself mad looking for someone to fight, to kill. Do nae turn back to that path now. Ye accepted the truth that she took her own life, and ye need to stay with that for yer sanity.”
I tugged my arm free. “I’m nae so certain how much sanity I still possess.”
His face softened, and he grasped my shoulder. “I ken it’s hard.”
“Ye do nae ken the half of it,” I said as the familiar weight of my grief pressed down on me. “Whether she took her own life or was killed, I failed her.” I heard how retched I sounded, but I didn’t care. “But if she were killed, at least I could have some vengeance on someone besides myself. It would nae be all my fault.”
“Ah, nephew,” my uncle said, trying to pull me into an embrace. I stepped back, not wanting comfort or kindness. He sighed and then said, “Ye must quit punishing yerself. She did nae ever recover from losing the bairn, and she was sad all the time after. Weeping for yer lost babe. Moaning about him. She—”
“George,” I said, the word dragged from somewhere dark within me. In the two years since Isabella had died, I’d not once uttered our dead bairn’s name.
“Aye,” Uncle Gordon said. “She lost her senses after he died. She wanted so much to give ye an heir—”
“Quit talking,” I demanded, fists clenched and my right eye twitching furiously. I knew he was trying to help, but he wasn’t. Nothing did.
“I wish I could, Munro, I see the pain my words cause ye, but the clan is falling to ruin, and yer children, well, I think mayhap James was right that they should be here, nae sent away somewhere so ye do nae have to look at them.”
Something snapped within me, and I grabbed my uncle by the tunic and jerked him toward me until we were nose to nose. “I am nae good for them,” I bit out.
He nodded. “Ye’re right, ye’re nae. So become the da they need. The laird the clan needs. Quit drinking to oblivion and chasing the lasses. Give the children a new mama.”
He spouted the list almost automatically, but there was no conviction in his voice that I could do these things. Still, my honorable uncle said them to me in a futile hope I might do them. Laughing bitterly, I shoved him back. “I will nae ever wed again.” A small truth clawed at me, demanding to see light. I pounded myself on the chest, trying to beat it back, but my lips parted, and I said, “Isabella did nae want anymore bairns.”
