Highlander's Dawn of Doom: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel, page 1
Highlander's Dawn of Doom
A Historical Scottish Romance Novel
Maddie MacKenna
Contents
A Gift from the Highlands
Before You Start Reading…
Scottish Brogue Glossary
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
Extended Epilogue
Preview: Highlander’s Wanton Vixen
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Also by Maddie MacKenna
About the Author
A Gift from the Highlands
Thank you very much for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love and support!
As a way to show you my gratitude, I have written a full length novel for you, called Highlander’s Untamed Bride. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping the image below or this link here.
Once again, I can’t thank you enough for your support!
Maddie MacKenna
Before You Start Reading…
Did you know that there’s a special place where you can chat with me and with thousands of like-minded bookworms all over the globe?!
Join Cobalt Fairy’s facebook group of voracious readers and I guarantee you, you’d wish you had joined us sooner!
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Just click on the image above! ⇧
About the Book
Even though she hated him, he dreamed of making her his…
After losing both her parents to a deadly illness, Amanda Roberts swears to never let another patient die. However, her oath is challenged when a nearly dead man wounds up outside her door and she finds herself torn: stay true to her beliefs or let her worst enemy perish.
When his parents died, Jonathan MacKenzie, Laird of Sinclair, vowed to turn his life around for good, all too aware that some wrongs can never be righted. Until some twisted fate leaves him at the mercy of the healer who irrevocably pierced his heart.
But their ignited feelings can´t keep them warm for long, and Jonathan’s brush with death cannot remain a secret. Especially when whoever wants him gone makes another attempt to rectify their previous failure using a powerful weapon: Amanda. Faced with her unavoidable doom, Jonathan has to make the ultimate choice: abandon Amanda, or hand over his clan on a silver platter…
Scottish Brogue Glossary
Here is a very useful glossary my good friend and fellow author Lydia Kendall sent to me, that will help you better understand the Scottish Brogue used:
aboot - about
ach - oh
afore - before
an' - and
anythin - anything
a'side - beside
askin' - asking
a'tween - between
auld - old
aye - yes
bampot - a jerk
bare bannock- a type of biscuit
bearin' - bearing
beddin' - bedding or sleeping with
bellend - a vulgar slang word
blethering - blabbing
blootered - drunk
bonnie - beautiful or pretty
bonniest - prettiest
cannae - cannot
chargin' - charging
cheesin' - happy
clocked - noticed
c'mon- come on
couldn'ae - couldn't
coupla - couple of
crivens - hell
cuddie - idiot
dae - do
dinin' - dining
dinnae - didn't or don't
disnae - doesn't
dobber - idiot
doesn'ae - doesn't
dolton - idiot
doon - down
dram - a measure of whiskey
efter - after
eh' - right
'ere - here
fer - for
frein - friend
fey - from
gae - get or give
git - a contemptible person
gonnae - going to
greetin' - dying
hae - have
hald - hold
haven'ae - haven't
heed - head
heedstart - head start
hid - had
hoovered - gobbled
intoxicated - drunk
kip - rest
lass - young girl
leavin - leaving
legless - drunk
me - my
nae - not
no' - not
noo - now
nothin' - nothing,
oan - on
o' - of
Och - an Olympian spirit who rules the sun
oot- out
packin- packing
pished - drunk
scooby - clue
scran - food
shite - shit
sittin' - sitting
so's - so as
somethin' - something
soonds ' sounds
stonking - stinking
tae - to
teasin' - teasing
thrawn - perverse, ill-tempered
tryin' - trying
wallops - idiot
wee -small
wheest - talking
whit's - what's
wi'- with
wid - would
wisnae - was not
withoot - without
wouldnae - wouldn't
ya - you
ye - you
yea - yes
ye'll - you'll
yer - your
yerself - yourself
ye're - you're
ye've - you've
Prologue
Scotland, 1708
Jonathan Mackenzie, son of the Laird of Sinclair Clan, waited patiently atop his horse, hidden behind a copse of trees. His eyes were forward. He could see the outline of a stag as it crept tremulously through the forest on the edge of the rocky glen—its eyes moving one way and then the other.
He waited, feeling the cool spring breeze ruffle his blond hair. Quietly, he lifted the edge of the bowstring upward, touching his thumb to his cheek. He was well-practiced, even though he was still young—twenty-two years. He glanced from side to side at his men, who grinned in encouragement.
He pulled back as slowly as he could. Jonathan sometimes felt that he could almost slow his heart rate when he was hunting and narrow his focus so much that nothing else was in his vision, only the object of his aim. He pulled the arrow taut and was just about to lift his finger to release it when a groan filled the air.
All three men’s heads snapped to the right. Jonathan’s finger slipped, and the arrow buzzed through the air, getting caught in a pine tree, while the stag dashed away, crunching leaves under its hooves as it leapt out of sight. Jonathan angrily stowed the bow away on his saddle and jumped down to collect the arrow that was still hanging in the tree.
“Bloody Hell, what was that?” He looked at his men Finn and Angus. “Had we nae come to hunt in a quiet part of the woods?”
Finn nodded quietly, but he squinted into the trees, looking at the glen. “Och, or so we thought. Look there! That is the place where the sound came from.”
Jonathan and Angus turned their eyes to the edge of the glen, a little bit further down, and they could see a small wooden cabin. A man was stretched out on a table outside of it, and a young, dark-haired woman was leaning over him.
Jonathan grinned. “What do ye think the lass is doin’ to him? Why should he groan like that?”
Angus laughed, “Perhaps we have stumbled upon some sort of isolated house of fallen women?”
Jonathan smiled, watching her. He couldn’t yet see her face, but the way she was leaning did feel somewhat provocative, and it stirred something in his youthful loins.
“Well, let us go ask her? And we can demand compensation for the loss of our stag. Should we nae, men?”
Finn scrunched up his nose. “What if she is doin’ some sort of witchcraft to him?” He looked around in the woods, his eyes almost a little fearful. “Me Gran has told me many times about what the faeries and the witches do here amongst the trees. Maybe she is puttin’ him under a spell.”
Jonathan swung himself into his saddle on his horse, Foighiddin, and the sound of stretching leather filled the air. His kilt of green and blue spread out around him.
“Well, then we must go and investigate! Save the poor man from her clutches.” He led the way, laughing, caring not for Finn’s hesitance, for it was he who led his men, and they had been kept from their due.
I will nae have a mere lass keep me from my prize.
It did not take long for them to ride around the glen, and they wound their way down the trodden dirt path to the cabin. The man’s groans became ever louder, and once they were close to the pair, Jonathan jumped off his horse first, curious about what he might find. Whether a brothel or a witch at work, he wanted to see.
Angus and Finn bumped against his back as he approached. He squinted his eyes, and then he saw it. The young woman’s back was to him but could tell her figure. Even though she was clad in a dark bodice and skirt, he could see her outline and the way her dress fell over her comely backside.
As he stepped closer, he could see that she was sewing into the man’s skin, pulling the two sides of a wound together. He suddenly felt alarmed and pushed his strong shoulders back, his angry voice brewing in his throat.
“What goes on here, lass?”
She did not turn around, but she said simply, “A man has come to me to heal his wound, and so I do. The light is better outside today.” Her voice was light and kind but a little abrupt.
Jonathan could see the older man scrunching up his face in pain, a light sheen of sweat over his skin. He did not say anything but merely gripped the sides of the table on which he laid.
Jonathan glanced at dark-haired Finn and red-haired Angus on either side of him. He winked and then crossed his arms, deciding that he needed to receive compensation for the stag's loss.
“But surely ye hurt the man instead of healing him. The stag we were searching for ran off when it was in me sights since this man screamed out in pain, and it rocked the glen! Just look at his face!” As if to support his argument, the man heaved out a breath of pain.
At Jonathan’s words, she turned around, her hands on her hips. The man on her table laid back, breathing out slowly. Jonathan was still watching him, and he pointed.
“Look at his obvious relief, lass!” He turned his head up to meet hers, and the rest of the words he had wanted to say froze in his throat. Before him stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even if his life had not yet been very long—her long dark curls were tied to the side, and a long braid came down her shoulder.
The hair matched her thin dark brows, which rested inquisitively above shocking blue eyes that looked at him with what he assumed was reprehension. Her nose was pert and thin, and just below them was the most enticing pair of pink lips. As she watched him, Jonathan felt like everything had gone fuzzy for a moment—he couldn’t think clearly.
And then, the faerie spoke. “What do ye ken about medicine, sir? And why do ye come? Is there somethin’ I can do for ye, or are ye here simply to badger me while I work on this poor man?”
The woman’s gaze flicked back and forth between him and his other friends, who had mysteriously gone silent. Jonathan finally regained his footing, and he crossed his arms again, smirking. Here was a beautiful lass, full of fire. He wanted to tease her just a bit, just to see how far the fire would rise.
“I am certain I ken a damn sight more than ye, lass since ye are just a lass.” He snickered, and Angus and Finn joined him.
The woman’s face reddened with anger, and her eyes flashed. She took a breath, and Jonathan could feel the storm clouds raging. “How dare ye! Get out! I will nae service ye or yer friends if ye were dyin’ here in front of me house, I wouldnae help ye! Ye men are all the same! Ye ken nothin’!”
Jonathan felt the force of her fire. He had plenty of pretty women back closer to where he lived that fell for his teasing charms. He didn’t need the ire of a supposed healer. “Service us? We thought that was what yer occupation was at first. A house of a fallen woman set out in the glen ready to serve whatever gentleman came her way with coin!”
“Get out! Go find yerself a new precious stag to stick yer bow intae!” the woman said again; her blue eyes flashed with fury. She pointed towards the mountain behind them, and Jonathan began to back away.
“Gladly. I do hope we might never see each other again, lass.” He winked, and she scoffed.
“Ha! I hope that, as well. Just ye keep out of me part of the woods, and I shall never have need to see ye or for God’s name speak to ye!”
Jonathan nodded tensely and then began to walk away with Angus at his heels. Finn lingered behind just a bit but caught up as they reached their horses. Jonathan watched as the woman returned to her work.
“The lass is named Amanda. Amanda Roberts,” Finn said when he returned to his friends. “She did nae ken who ye were, though, and so I thought I ought to tell her. Embarrass her even further for her words.” Finn pulled on his reins.
“Aye, what a lass she was! Never seen so much fire before in me life! And for just a simple joke,” Angus added, shaking his head. “It was she that ruined the stag for us!”
Finn nodded. “I suppose me Gran was right. It looks like we have found a witch in these woods after all.”
Jonathan smirked, but he didn’t laugh. His eyes were still on the dark-haired girl as she leaned over the man once more.
Amanda.
“I daenae think that we found a witch, lads. I think we found a faerie. For all her fire, I found her as bewitchin’ as can be.”
1
Six years later
Amanda Roberts hoisted her bucket of water up from the stream, clutching tightly to the rope which she had tied into its sides so that she could use her shoulder to help her carry it. She paused, trying to catch her breath, and squinted up into the sunlight.
Her wooden cottage stood where it always had—high up in the edge of the glen, while the stream ran below. She had to climb the set of natural stone stairs to return to it with her pail of water. A few weeks ago, she would not have blinked at such a task, for she had done it daily for so many years when she had lived there with her family.
But now, since her father passed away not three weeks before, every task felt arduous. Every one of her thoughts was tinged with pain, and it was almost like the pain of her heart had spread through to her muscles and joints, making her miserable.
She started up the steps, heaving the water upon her side. It was no use to try to keep the water inside of the bucket, for it would slosh and spit out onto the stones and down the woolen skirt of her dress.
Ye couldnae save him.
There was that voice again. She sighed but trudged on, and yet its repeated rhythm was in her mind.
Ye couldnae save him. Just as ye couldnae save yer maither, all those years ago.
She sighed tears at the corners of her eyes. They were always there, it seemed, lingering, waiting.
“Nay, I couldnae.” Her voice was fraught with resignation. Her mind flashed back to the moment where her father clutched her hand amid his fever.
He had absolved her from guilt. He had told her that everything would be fine and that it was not her fault. It was merely the way of things. She laughed under her breath despite herself.
Her father had always seen things like that, simple accidents. That the world was just a conglomeration of unforeseen occurrences, and there was no reason to get upset about anything, for all was random.
But Amanda wanted someone to blame, someone to be angry at for the loss of both of her parents within a few years of each other. Her mother had died so quickly; there had been no time to say goodbye. At least she and her father had been able to speak a little before he had left her alone in the world.
If there was no God, then Amanda had only herself to turn her rage and bitterness to, and so she had set to it while also throwing all her focus into her work as a healer. She would fight to help anyone who came her way, to keep them alive.
Death was a hungry beast, and she felt continually surrounded by its darkness. Her work as a healer that she’d started before her mother’s death had helped assuage some of her sorrow and guilt. When her mother passed, she’d returned to it with a vengeance, hoping to save others from the same sorrow and grief that she’d experienced.
But then, there had been Jonathan Mackenzie. The most handsome man she had ever laid eyes upon, she’d nearly been shocked into not silence to his goading. But his words had been too hurtful. Just at the time when she had been attempting something strange and new, worried about her skills to save, he had come to remind her of her fears: that she knew nothing about medicine as a woman, and that she only brought pain, just like she had to her mother.
