The Highlander's Bride Read online

  DONNA FLETCHER

  The Highlander's Bride

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  “Lord, please send me a husband.”

  Chapter 2

  Cullen’s broken heart shattered completely. His search couldn’t end like…

  Chapter 3

  Sara left Sister Mary at the arches with the other…

  Chapter 4

  The ceremony was quick and simple following a lengthy protest…

  Chapter 5

  It felt good to ride a horse again. Sara loved…

  Chapter 6

  Cullen set a grueling pace the next day. He wanted…

  Chapter 7

  Sara leaned back with a confident shake of her head.

  Chapter 8

  "You can kiss me if you’d like, but there will…

  Chapter 9

  “I’m not going to ask why,” Cullen said.

  Chapter 10

  As soon as he caught sight of the man emerging…

  Chapter 11

  Sara was amazed at how neat and clean Jeremy’s wife,…

  Chapter 12

  They left early the next morning, and Cullen was glad…

  Chapter 13

  They broke camp early the next morning after an uneventful…

  Chapter 14

  They camped at dusk, a good distance from the market…

  Chapter 15

  Sara almost exploded, but instead tempered her anger when she…

  Chapter 16

  Cullen had much on his mind. There was his son’s…

  Chapter 17

  Sara didn’t budge or prevent Cullen from joining her on…

  Chapter 18

  Cullen’s sullen mood mirrored the gray skies, and try as…

  Chapter 19

  They came upon a deserted cottage, and after bedding down…

  Chapter 20

  They woke early and left camp with the first light…

  Chapter 21

  Dusk claimed the land when Sara and Cullen entered Clan…

  Chapter 22

  Cullen stared at her, speechless. He knew she spoke the…

  Chapter 23

  With tears damp on her cheeks, Sara’s eyes welled up…

  Chapter 24

  Cullen stared at his sleeping son in the cradle. He…

  Chapter 25

  Sara left her bed and the keep as soon as…

  Chapter 26

  Cullen woke alone the next morning and turned to bury…

  Chapter 27

  Sara sat crossed-legged on a blanket with her sister, the…

  Chapter 28

  Sara lingered at the stream as long at she could.

  Chapter 29

  Cullen watched his wife from his perch on a log…

  Chapter 30

  A few hours later, Sara saw that Cullen’s passion continued…

  Chapter 31

  Cullen wasn’t sure what to make of the situation with…

  Chapter 32

  Night was not made for travel, and if it wasn’t…

  Chapter 33

  Cullen sucked in his anger and held it deep in…

  Chapter 34

  Sara followed quietly behind her husband. It had been a…

  Chapter 35

  Sara tasted the blood in her mouth. Her lip had…

  Chapter 36

  “I love you, husband,” Sara said as Storm helped her…

  About the Author

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  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  Lord, please send me a husband.”

  Sara was desperate. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been kneeling on the hard stone floor in the chapel of Stilmere Abbey for near an hour, praying.

  The good Lord certainly had to have heard her by now, she thought, and realized she required immediate attention.

  “I need a husband now, Lord, this very moment. My father isn’t going to wait any longer. You must send me a husband today.”

  Sara expelled a heavy breath and got off her knees, stretching the ache out of her back. She paced in front of the small wooden altar draped in fine white linens, a gold cross gracing the center.

  All she had to do was obey her father’s edict and marry the man of his choosing.

  Donald McHern was a large man built as solid as a tree trunk and his width almost equal to one. His craggy narrow face was beset with a mane of fiery red hair that clansmen swore looked as if it were set aflame when he lost his temper, and his height towered over all in the clan. The soft blue-green color of his eyes was the only thing that attested to the man having a spark of kindness. But his people considered him a fair laird, would attest to his attributes and often sang his praise. He provided well for the clan and kept them free of senseless feuds, though he took up his sword whenever necessary.

  The clan had remarked on their chieftain’s fairness when her father had issued the same edict to Sara as he had to his older daughter Teresa: “Find a husband or I’ll find one for you.”

  Luckily, Teresa had already fallen in love with Shamus, a clansmen her father favored, and he had been quick to approve her choice.

  Unfortunately, Sara had inherited much of her father’s outspoken, authoritative nature, not to mention his fiery red hair, blue-green eyes, and height. She had stood eye-to-eye with her six-foot father and claimed she couldn’t find a husband worthy of her.

  Donald McHern had pointed out, with a shout, that it was her blunt nature and refusal to obey a man that kept her from finding a husband. No decent man wanted to put up with the likes of her; he’d forever have to battle her willful nature.

  So her father did what he felt was his duty and found her a husband.

  Sara shivered at the mere thought of Harken McWilliams. He belonged to a nearby clan but harbored aspirations of joining forces with the mighty McHerns. And what better way than wedding the chieftain’s daughter?

  Harken wasn’t a bad-looking man, but he was a filthy one, with the stench to prove it. Throw in teeth that were crooked and half rotted, and as she told her father right in front of Harken…

  “There’s no way in hell I’d let the putrid man kiss me, let alone touch me.”

  Harken had stepped forward with a rush to intimidate her, though how he had expected to do that when his height paled hers by several inches, she never understood. She had moved with her own speed and informed him quite bluntly, with her hand on the hilt of the dagger tucked at her waist, that she’d cut his balls off if he laid a hand on her.

  He had jumped back, startled and shaken, to stand directly behind her father.

  Her father’s face had burned bright red, and there and then he ordered her to Stilmere Abbey to reside with the nuns until she came to her senses. That had been two years ago.

  Now, at twenty and two, she had yet to come to her senses, and so her father sent a message to the Abbess informing Sara that she had two choices. Marry Harken McWilliams, who agreed to still honor the marriage arrangement despite her disrespectful remarks, or take her vows and remain in the abbey the rest of her life.

  Neither option appealed to Sara, so her only choice was to ask the good Lord for help. After all, no higher authority existed that she could seek help from, and certainly no higher authority that could perform the miracle she needed.

  Now, she sank to her knees in front of the cross and once again clasped her hands together in prayer. Her voice was soft and reverent, though touched with desperation. “No disrespect, Lord, but I just can’t stay here. It’s too barren of a life for me, and while I’ve learned some skills, I can’t stand the confinement. This life is not for me. So, please, please, please send me a hu
sband. I won’t be fussy. I’ll take whoever you send me, though I ask that he doesn’t stink.” She sighed. “But if that’s all you’ve got available, I’ll take him and throw him in the first river or loch we pass and wash the stench off him. Please just send me a man. I’ll do the rest.”

  Sara continued to pray. It seemed to her that prayer was all she had left. If the good Lord didn’t see fit to take pity on her and offer a helping hand, she didn’t know what she was going to do. The two options open to her were simply not acceptable. She could never wed the foul-smelling Harken. And—Lord forgive her—she could never take the vows of a nun and remain forever confined to the abbey.

  She muttered prayer after prayer, while reminding the heavens of the urgency of her intolerable situation.

  A gentle tap on her shoulder startled her to her feet and sent her stumbling, though she was quick to right herself.

  “I did not mean to alarm you or intrude on your prayer time,” Sister Mary said in a respectful hush for her surrounding. “The Abbess wishes to speak with you immediately.”

  Sara burdened her mind with the last few days’ activities, wondering what she had done now to annoy or upset the Abbess. Try as she might, she always managed to get herself into some type of quandary. It just served to prove that she was not at all suited to becoming a nun.

  She draped her heavy blue wool shawl over her head and around her shoulders as they left the chapel and the last stirrings of a winter wind stung her cheeks red. “Do you know what it is she wants of me?” she asked.

  Sister Mary shook her head. “The Abbess did not say, though I think it has something to do with the man who waits with her.”

  Sara froze abruptly in her tracks. Had she heard the sister correctly? A man!

  Sister Mary halted her own tracks once she realized Sara was not keeping pace with her. “Are you all right?”

  “I am wonderful,” Sara said, startling the sister by rushing up to her, taking hold of her arm and practically dragging her along. “Miracles, Sister Mary. Today is a day of miracles.”

  Chapter 2

  Cullen’s broken heart shattered completely. His search couldn’t end like this. He had traveled miles alone, purposely avoiding people when possible. It couldn’t be known that Cullen Longton remained in Scotland. The king’s soldiers would be on his trail in no time, though he would battle them and heaven and hell to keep his promise to his beloved Alaina. He had lost her; he couldn’t lose their son.

  “I am so sorry for your loss, Mr. Longton,” the Abbess said. “At least you have the solace of knowing your son received a proper Christian burial.”

  The woman was wrong; she had to be wrong, he thought. Alaina had fought with her dying breath to tell him of the son she had birthed. She had told him of how loudly the babe wailed upon entering the world, how his son had been forcefully taken from her alive and well, and that she had never seen him again.

  With her final breath, Alaina begged him to find their son and keep him safe. He had relived those last few moments of her life every day since it happened over five months ago. And his tireless search had brought him here to Stilmere Abbey. He had planned to find his son and then settle his debt with Alaina’s father, the Earl of Balford, the man responsible for her untimely death.

  Cullen stared at the Abbess, tall and regal in her white robe, a large gold cross resting against her chest. She was a woman of God and yet he didn’t believe her. He couldn’t believe her. “My son can’t be dead.”

  “I’m afraid he is,” the Abbess said gently. “He took but a few breaths, then perished quietly. His grave rests here in the abbey’s cemetery, on sacred ground.”

  “I want to see it,” Cullen demanded sharply.

  “Of course,” the Abbess agreed. “You will want to offer your own prayers for his soul.”

  Cullen followed the woman out of the room and down a long corridor. His heavy footfalls caused an eerie echo against the stone pathway. He had shed his worn sandals, soiled kilt, and threadbare shirt for fresh ones as soon as he left his half brother Burke’s ship at St. Andrew harbor.

  He hadn’t known he had a half brother from America, and if it hadn’t been for Burke and Storm, the once infamous outlaw angel of the wrongly accused, he would have rotted in prison. They had rescued him and reunited him with Alaina, with plans for all of them to sail to America and start a new life in the Dakota Territory. It seemed to Cullen that his father had provided more than well for his family, for he now had more wealth than he knew what to do with.

  Burke had provided him with enough coins and the promise of more if needed. Burke even offered to remain with him and help him search for his son. Cullen had preferred to go it alone. This was for him to do—to find his son.

  If his presence in Scotland were known, there would be a bounty on his head. Soldiers would search tirelessly for him, though they would look for a man far removed from his renewed appearance. Freshly bathed, his long brown hair shining from its recent washing with single braids at the sides, and a tartan of bold red, black, and yellow over a pale yellow linen shirt, all announced him a man of stature and means.

  The Abbess, upon meeting him, had addressed him respectfully, though after his initial inquiry into his son, she appeared to grow uneasy, though kept her calm. That he had disturbed her made him think that perhaps the Abbess hadn’t been completely honest with him.

  He intended to make certain he got the truth, no matter what it took to get it.

  Cullen followed the Abbess into a small courtyard that ran parallel with stone arches framing the east side of the abbey’s main building. He realized soon enough it was a cemetery with a mixture of headstones and wooden crosses marking the gravesites. The woman kept to the trodden dirt pathways, walking to the rear right corner, where she stopped.

  “Your son,” she said softly and stepped aside.

  A small white, tilted wooden cross with the name Alexander carved into it marked the grave. Cullen stared at the name haphazardly sprawled across the wood as if the carver had no patience or want to do the deed. It was as if his son had been discarded without thought or care. His heart pounded in his chest, the thump so viciously strong that it resonated in his ears and stole his breath.

  He wanted to scream out at the pain that ripped violently at his heart and cry for a son he had not been there to protect, or to hold and welcome into the world, and for the woman he loved who had to face this tragedy alone. His eyes, however, remained dry as he bowed his head and silently prayed for the tiny lad he’d never get to know.

  Find him, Cullen. Promise me you’ll find our son.

  Alaina’s dying words intruded on his grief and grew more forceful until they consumed him and he could hear nothing else but her insistent voice begging him to find their son.

  He looked to the Abbess, who kept her head bent as if in prayer. But was she praying, or afraid to meet his eyes? Was there something she hadn’t told him? Hadn’t wanted him to know?

  “You attended the burial?” he asked.

  “I—I—I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t actually see my son buried,” he finished bluntly.

  “I assure you, he was given a Christian burial.”

  “So you have said.” Cullen glanced again at the cross that carelessly bore his son’s name. “I want to see my son.”

  The Abbess pointed to the wooden marker. “You are seeing your son.”

  Cullen shook his head slowly. “No. I see a grave, not my son. Until I hold his body in my hands—”

  “You cannot mean to sullen his final resting place?” the Abbess asked, shocked.

  “I mean to hold my son in my arms,” Cullen said firmly.

  The Abbess drew her shoulders back. “I will not permit it.”

  He settled a cold hard stare on her. “How will you stop me?”

  The Abbess sputtered and choked, unable to respond.

  “I’ll need a shovel.”

  The Abbess found her voice. “I will not aid you in
defiling a grave.”

  Cullen walked over to the woman whose head barely reached his shoulder, but then his height of six feet four inches usually thwarted and intimidated most women and men.

  “I will use my bare hands to dig if need be. One way or another I will hold my son.”

  The Abbess remained defiant. “I will not defile sacred ground.”

  Cullen stared at her a moment, then cast his glance around the small plot of land, his eyes connecting with what he needed.

  The Abbess followed his glance and hurried past him in a rush to beat him to the hoe that lay against the lone tree in the cemetery.

  Cullen let her take the lead, but she no sooner grasped hold of the hoe than he swiped it out of her hands. Then he turned and headed back to his son’s grave.

  “You cannot do this,” she implored, rushing after him. “You will disturb his soul.”

  A blustery winter wind rushed across the land when Cullen struck the grave with the hoe. “It will disturb my soul even more if I do not make certain that my son lies buried here.”

  The Abbess gasped. “You think I lie to you?”

  The hoe struck the ground again. “We will soon find out.”

  Several nuns had gathered at the edge of the cemetery beneath the stone arches of the abbey, grasping hold of the rosary beads that hung at their waists and praying feverishly.

  The Abbess grabbed the cross at her chest. “I will pray for you both.”

  Cullen swallowed his response and dug until the hoe unearthed more than dirt. He threw the tool aside, hunched down over the grave and stared at the small bundle huddled in the earth. He reached out slowly, fearful of what he would find yet fearful not to find out. Gently, he brushed the dirt off the blue blanket and choked back his pain.