When a Highlander Loses His Heart (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 4) Read online

  When a Highlander Loses His Heart

  Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts, Book Four

  by

  Julie Johnstone

  Find out what scandal is next in my bestselling Regency romance, After Forever. You can get After Forever, a full-length novel, for free by visiting www.juliejohnstoneauthor.com and clicking the free download graphic. Happy reading!

  When a Highlander Loses His Heart

  Copyright © 2017 by Julie Johnstone

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Design by The Midnight Muse

  Editing by Double Vision Editorial

  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

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Kindle readers: sign up to follow me on Amazon to be notified of new releases as they become available.

  The best way to stay in touch is to subscribe to my newsletter. Go to juliejohnstoneauthor.com and subscribe in the box on the top of the screen that says Newsletter. If you don’t hear from me once a month, please check your span filter and set up your email to allow my messages through to you so you don’t miss the opportunity to win great prizes or hear about appearances.

  Dedication

  For Verna Chesser (1940-2017), who encouraged me when I was but a young girl to sit and write. She made me feel special at a time when I was awkward, a great gift indeed.

  Special Thanks

  I would be utterly remiss if I did not thank all the people who have helped make this book possible. To my editor Danielle Poiesz, thank you for your invaluable help in creating perfect flow. To my friend and fellow writer Kathy Bone, thank you so very much for those brainstorming sessions on the plane on our way back from HRR. To my dear friend and fellow writer Nina Costopoulos McCallum, thank you as always for the early reading of my rough draft. To my assistant, Samantha Williams Lobocki, thank you for keeping me on track on the business side of writing. And finally to Teresa Spreckelmeyer, thank you for always making my vision into reality with your beautiful covers.

  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers,

  I have taken great pains to make sure the words I used in writing this story were as historically accurate as possible. However, given that I am writing to a modern audience, there are some instances when I chose to use a word that was not in existence in the fourteenth century, as they simply did not have a word at that time to correctly convey the meaning of the sentence.

  All the best,

  Julie

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Words and Terms of Interest

  Chapter One

  1359

  Loch Awe, Scotland

  A chapel was supposed to be a place of sanctuary for Isobel Campbell, but she had a bad feeling that something was very wrong. At first glance, Innis Chonnell Castle, her father’s home, had appeared inviting. She had never lived there before, but with the crackling fire, fresh rushes underfoot, bright tapestries hanging on the walls, and warm glow cast over the tiny room, the chapel seemed like a haven. It was contrary in nearly every way from the cold, drab nunnery she’d grown up in, except one—both places were filled with liars. She was as sure of that fact as she was that a storm was coming.

  Dampness clung to the heavy air, and it pressed on her like a thick cloak. The sweet pungency of the coming rain filled her nose with every inhalation, and her skin tingled from a strange current in the air. She knew the signs of a storm brewing because her father had taught them to her during one of his yearly birthday visits. He had left her in the protection of the sisters at Iona Nunnery when she was barely a week old, but he never missed her birthday.

  Deceitful people were harder to recognize than an impending storm, of course, but in her years living with the nuns, she’d learned that if you spent enough time around people who were attempting to mislead you, eventually they would forget to put their masks on. Only then could you see the ugly truth they’d been striving to hide. It could take a great deal of time, though. Sometimes years, as it had with Sister Beatrice.

  Isobel rubbed her fingers over the rough scars on her knuckles. Every time Sister Beatrice had thrashed her until her hands were bleeding, the woman had claimed that she punished Isobel because she loved her. Isobel clenched her teeth with the memory of the lie. The nun had loved the power the punishment had given her, and that was all.

  Isobel stole a quick glance at the corner of the chapel where Jean, her stepmother—whom she had only met mere hours earlier—stood with a priest. Jean caught Isobel’s gaze and glared at her with hostile eyes.

  “What are ye gaping at?” Jean snarled.

  A liar, Isobel thought, but she simply pressed her lips together and shook her head. Jean snorted in disgust, then resumed her frenzied whispering to the priest. Unease danced along Isobel’s skin, along with the certainty that there was no time to peel back the disguises of the strangers surrounding her.

  Many times had she imagined the day she would reach eighteen summers. Those dreams had nothing to do with the fact that she would then be the heiress of Brigid Castle and everything to do with the fact that when she turned eighteen her father would finally take her home with him instead of leaving her at Iona as he did after every other visit. She cared naught for the power Brigid brought her as key to the Scottish Isles; she cared only to be with her father and her half brothers, Findlay and Colin.

  When she had dreamed of her eighteenth birthday, her father and brothers came to the nunnery as they always did, and such happiness filled her to see those she loved so dearly. But her dream differed from reality in that when they departed at the end of the day on her eighteenth birthday, she was not left standing alone watching them ride off together, her chest aching with loneliness and longing to go with them. But her dream had not come true as she had thought it would. While she had left Iona Nunnery on her eighteenth birthday, she was not with her father and brothers.

  Listening to the low murmurs around her, Isobel touched th
e perfectly circular black onyx stone her father had given her on her seventh birthday. It had been her mother’s necklace, and when she had died in childbirth, Father had taken it and kept it with him always until he had gifted it to Isobel. This stone had given her strength in her darkest hours at the nunnery. It had always reminded her that she was not alone, that she had a father and brothers who loved her, and that one day they would be together. When that time came, she would also finally meet her sisters.

  She bit down on her trembling lips. She was now the Brigid heiress. No more was she to be kept safe from those who might try to seize her and bind her in marriage. She had never understood all the terms of her inheritance from her grandmother, but she did remember Father saying she would not inherit the castle if she was wed before she was eighteen. Father had also vowed that on the day she turned eighteen, he and her brothers would personally come for her and bring her home.

  Isobel shivered, not from the draft in the chapel but from fear. Her father had not come. Her brothers had not come. Strangers had plucked her from her bed and forced her to ride through day and night, then the next day and night. They had claimed it was at her father’s request. They had claimed it was by his bidding. But they had lied. They had brought her to the home she had often dreamed of living in, but neither her father nor her brothers were there. Deception floated in the air.

  Her heartbeat tripled its pace as her stepmother stopped whispering furiously to the priest and they both looked at her. Isobel pressed a damp palm to the gown her father had given her as a birthday gift the year before. Father had told her then that she must always be strong and courageous, just as he’d had to be when he brought her to the nunnery and sacrificed his own personal desire to have her live with him so that he could keep her safe. She had vowed to him that she would be, and she would not break that vow now.

  She took a deep breath just as the chapel door creaked open and a tall man filled the doorway. A hard knot of dread formed in her belly as she studied the man. His hair was black as a starless night, and his lips twisted in a way that reminded Isobel of how Sister Beatrice’s lips always turned down in a grimace. But it was his gray, flat eyes that made Isobel’s stomach clench. There was no light of life in his eyes, only a coldness that made him appear devoid of emotion.

  The man strode into the room with hard steps, and suspicion swirled within her. Whoever this man was, he commanded respect, or mayhap fear, given the tight faces of the others in the chapel. He came to stand directly in front of her, towering over her so that she took an involuntary step back, only to be shoved forward by Jean as she walked up to Isobel’s side.

  Isobel tensed as Jean moved closer and speared her with a frosty look. “Isobel, this is Lord Jamie MacLeod. He is the man ye will marry this night.”

  Isobel’s lips parted. MacLeod? She swept her gaze over the foreboding man who carried the name of the clan that was her father’s greatest foe. Once the shock of a MacLeod standing in front of her sank in, another swept over her. Marry? Had Jean truly said Isobel was to marry this man? And this night? She went rigid. Her father, laird of the Campbell clan, would never agree to marry her to a MacLeod and into the clan that had stolen from him.

  Liars! She was surrounded by enemies. Jean may be her stepmother and these men may be her father’s, but something was amiss. She could feel it in her bones. She did not know Jean. She did not know her father’s men. She did not even know the woman hovering in the corner with watchful eyes, the one who Isobel had been told was her half sister.

  What she did know with undeniable truth was that her father hated the MacLeods and would never bind her in marriage to them.

  Tilting up her chin and choosing her words with care, she said, “I’ll nae marry anyone without speaking to my father. I must ken his desires.” It was best to leave the rest of her feelings unsaid. Her father would understand that she wished to marry an honorable man like him, one whom she loved and who loved her, just as her father had loved her mother.

  “This is his wish,” Jean said in a voice that did not display a hint of warmth or yielding.

  Isobel pressed her lips together. “So ye say,” she responded. “But I’d hear it from my father’s own mouth. I must marry wisely.”

  And not to a hated enemy.

  Jean snorted. “Ye fool. Nae a body present dunnae ken the importance of the choice of husband for ye, as he will rule Brigid Castle.”

  Isobel sucked in a sharp breath. She was no fool! She knew the man she married one day would hold her castle, yet that was secondary in her mind. If she married for love and the man was honorable, fierce, and loyal to the Campbells, then Brigid Castle would be in excellent hands.

  Beside Jean, Lord MacLeod shifted, drawing Isobel’s attention. He narrowed his eyes upon her. “Did they nae teach ye proper obedience at the nunnery?” he snarled. “Ye will marry as yer stepmother has bid, or ye will learn what it means to attempt to defy me.” His hand curled into a fist.

  Isobel’s thoughts spun in her head as she stared at the fresh, jagged, red cut running from his right eye to his lip. Had he received that in battle with warriors, or had he received the wound from some poor woman who had been trying to protect herself from him? Isobel swept her gaze around the room, seeing only fear. She’d find no aid from anyone in this room. She had no notion what her stepmother was up to, but Isobel could not believe that the father she knew would marry her to a man without at least telling her himself.

  Beyond that, she knew her father would not marry her to a man who threatened to beat her. She had to think no further than the memory of Sister Beatrice, whom he’d sent from the nunnery after learning of her abuse toward Isobel. She’d been afraid to tell him for many years, as Sister Beatrice had sworn it was Isobel’s penance for being sinful, but when she had turned eight and her father had visited, he had seen the fresh cuts and Isobel had divulged the truth. Sister Beatrice had been sent away that very day. Father was her greatest defender. No, it could not be his wish for her to marry this man.

  Mayhap her stepmother was trying to make an allegiance with this MacLeod to thwart Father somehow. Isobel did not know. What she did understand was that Father had told her time and again to trust only him and her half brothers because all others would attempt to use her.

  She stiffened her spine and notched up her chin. “I will nae agree to marry this night.”

  A low growl came from Lord MacLeod. Out of the corner of her eye, Isobel saw the priest cross himself, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

  Lord MacLeod clutched her arm in an unforgiving vise. “It will bring me great pleasure to gain yer agreement, Isobel.”

  Fear raced across her skin as he squeezed her arm with such force that she had to bite her cheek to keep from whimpering. She glanced toward the window and out at the dark night. She swallowed hard. Bad things happened at night. Her mother had died at night. Her father had always departed from their visits when the sky was black. Colin, her oldest and favorite brother, had told her on his most recent visit with Father that the MacLeods had defeated them in an important battle on a night when the moon had refused to shine.

  Her heart pounded as she scanned the small room for something to offer her reprieve. Her eyes met the piercing blue ones of her half sister, Marsaili. Colin and Findlay had said the girl was dim-witted, yet her eyes looked clear to Isobel. Judging by the woman’s unkempt appearance, she needed a rescuer from Jean, too. Clearly, the horrid woman did not properly care for her daughter when Father was not in residence.

  Isobel’s heart twisted for the young woman, and then an idea came to her. She hated to use Marsaili, but she was desperate and the woman would not be hurt. Isobel placed a hand on Lord MacLeod’s arm and forced herself to smile up at him. “My lord, forgive me. I am sorry for moments ago. If I’m to be married, please may I have my sister Marsaili by my side—washed of the dirt covering her, of course.”

  Lord MacLeod stared down at Isobel with an implacable gaze that made he
r stomach tighten. He was going to refute her request; she simply knew it.

  “Ye wish the half-wit to be yer witness?” he asked incredulously as he released her.

  “I do, my lord,” she replied, struggling to control her anger at his referring to Marsaili as a half-wit. Isobel looked at Marsaili, who, much to her surprise, appeared to be scrutinizing Isobel. She smiled at Marsaili, hoping to ease her fears should there be any.

  And that’s when all hell unleashed.

  The motto of the MacLeod clan, Hold fast, strummed a relentless beat through Graham MacLeod’s head as he stood in the pitch-black woods that surrounded Innis Chonnell Castle. Revenge was not far off; all he had to do was wait. He stared into the night methodically, recalling what he and his men had learned of their enemy’s routine in the two days since arriving on the island and hiding in the thick woods.

  By now, all the Campbells had long been to bed. There were five guards spaced evenly apart on each of the north, south, east, and west walls that surrounded the castle, yet not a one of them had seen Graham or his men as they had swum through the loch to reach the island, made camp in the woods, and even scaled the fortress wall in rehearsal for their revenge. The Campbell men who had been left to guard Innis Chonnell were not very observant. This both surprised and pleased him.

  He was here for two reasons: to destroy their castle, and to take Isobel Campbell, the laird’s daughter and the new heiress to Brigid Castle. That castle was a key holding for the king and for the MacLeods who would be protecting him from their enemies. He pictured Brigid in his mind, sitting dauntingly between Skye and the mainland. All ships had to pass by that castle to get to Skye, and they had to have the permission of the keeper of Brigid to do so. Currently, that keeper was Isobel Campbell’s grandmother. His mouth tugged at the corners in a respectful smile. The older woman was cunning. She had cleverly orchestrated a system in which her men placed a chain in the water that ran from the shores of Brigid to the shores of the mainland, and she ordered that chain raised against those ships she did not want to let pass. The ships would then have to turn back and attempt the stormy passages of the Minch to reach their destinations.