A Highlander of Her Own Read online

  Ellie. Clad only in a drying cloth.

  “By all the Fae of the Glen,” Caden growled, stalking across the distance that separated them. “The woman’s determined to drive me mad.”

  She’d seen him. She held up one hand as if to stop him, the other clasping the top of the drying cloth, keeping it from slipping any lower than it already had.

  “I can explain.” Her words tumbled out breathlessly.

  “Truly? The bathhouse disna appear to be on fire, so I canna think of any acceptable reason for you to be parading about, yer body exposed as it is.”

  “You know what? I don’t have to explain anything to you.” She twirled, giving him her backside as she started toward the keep.

  And a very nice backside it was, clearly outlined with only the thin drying cloth as covering.

  Caden started to turn away, to allow her to make her own way back to her room. But then she stepped on something.

  “Dammit!” Ellie halted, balancing on one foot.

  The cloth she still held with one hand parted as she lifted her other foot to examine her sole, slowly revealing more and more smooth white skin. Her calf, her knee, her thigh…

  “Absolutely riveting from start to finish.”

  —A Romance Review on Soul of a Highlander

  ALSO BY MELISSA MAYHUE

  Thirty Nights with a Highland Husband

  Highland Guardian

  Soul of a Highlander

  Pocket Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2009 by Melissa Mayhue

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-7572-6

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-7572-3

  Visit us on the Web:

  http://www.SimonandSchuster.com

  As always, to Frank, my own personal Happy Ever After

  And

  To all my readers, for the wonderful notes

  and emails you send. Truly, you make writing

  the most fun I’ve ever had!

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  I owe special thank-yous to the following people:

  Alianore [Kathryn] and the helpful folks at the Edward II forum [www.edwardii.justforum.net]

  Anne Helmenstine, Ph.D., About.com Guide to Chemistry—for her expertise in chemistry and her helpful explanation of the differences between blue vitriol and green vitriol!

  Louise Suit, EdD, RN, CAS, Assistant Professor, Nursing, Regis University, for her input on how wounds might heal and their lingering effects.

  Chris—for the weapons training and showing me how to safely use an assault rifle—and allowing me to actually shoot the thing [with photos to prove it!!]

  Megan—for always being ready to discuss the best last book we’ve just read.

  Elaine Spencer—for being my fantastic agent!

  And I couldn’t forget Megan McKeever—for all her help and support. You are the best!

  The precise quote Ellie vaguely remembers is:

  “Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink.”

  —from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

  by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

  Prologue

  Dallyn Aí Lyre, High General of the Realm of Faerie, strode down the long golden passage, his well-shined black boots gliding noiselessly over the sparkling marble floors in the Hall of the High Council.

  Something was not as it should be. That much he could sense.

  He took the stairs up several flights to the dignitaries’ floor, following a series of twists and turns to the very back of the massive building. More than once he stopped to test the air, to listen, to feel for any who might follow.

  At last, satisfied he was alone, he approached the carved wooden door that was his destination and knocked. Three quick raps, as instructed.

  The door swung open slowly, admitting him to the private chambers of Pol Aú Revyn, hereditary High Prince of the Fae.

  “You wanted to see me, your highness?”

  Pol turned from the large window at the end of the room, a smile fleeting over his face before he crossed the room toward his visitor, his arm extended in greeting. “Yes, my friend. Thank you for coming.”

  Dallyn clasped the arm proffered to him. “Is something wrong?”

  With a wave of Pol’s hand, the massive wooden door closed silently. “Have a seat. Would you care for a drink?”

  Shaking his head in refusal, Dallyn took the offered chair. He reminded himself of the necessity of patience when dealing with this man. “Is something—”

  “Possibly,” Pol interrupted, sitting down across the table from Dallyn. “I have fretted over this since returning from Mairi Rose’s wedding. Since I find that I cannot let it go, I have decided to seek your assistance in the matter.”

  Apprehension blossomed in Dallyn’s heart. Prince Pol did not seek the counsel of others lightly.

  “When Mairi came to my glen and demanded her gifts be returned to her, I must admit I was somewhat shaken.”

  “To be challenged by a slip of a girl? I am sure you were, your highness.” Few in the High Council would challenge the prince, let alone a young woman with only a touch of Fae blood.

  The Prince smiled sadly. “Not because of her challenge, but rather by the knowledge of my own massive oversight. The thought of all those young women I had abandoned. I was so sure of myself for so long.” He shook his head, a haunted look in his eyes. “In any event, as I said, I was shaken by the knowledge of the enormity of the mistake I had made and I think—that is, I suspect I might have…” Pol stopped, chewing on the inside of his mouth as he studied his hands.

  The Prince lifted his head and met Dallyn’s gaze before he spoke again. “No. The time has come for me to accept responsibility for all my actions. I committed a grave, unthinking error. You do understand that I restored all Mairi’s gifts to her? All that she would have had if I had never interfered with my dratted blessing?”

  Dallyn nodded. Though he was confused about where Pol was headed with this conversation, he felt sure that whatever it was that bothered the Prince was also the source of his own feeling that something was not as it should be.

  “Yes, well, as I said, I was shaken, so I did not stop to think
through my actions at the time. I simply responded to Mairi’s request and restored that which should have been hers.”

  “But surely you have no reason to suspect Mairi would be a threat of any sort. She is the Soulmate of a Guardian. I have no doubt Ramos will see to her safety.”

  Pol shook his head rapidly. “No, no, not Mairi. It is the others who concern me.”

  “Others?” The tendril of apprehension grew as Dallyn voiced the word. “What others?”

  Pol rose from his chair to pace the length of the room. “Mairi’s demand that her gifts be restored was not for herself alone. She wanted the gifts restored to all those like her. All my descendants who had been ignored by the original blessing.”

  The ramifications of Pol’s statement hit Dallyn, curdling his stomach.

  “These are women who have no idea?”

  “Exactly.” Pol’s steps drew to a halt at the large window, his back to Dallyn. “In my youth, in my anger, I was so sure of myself. When I blessed my own daughters on that day, I did not envision any omission. I never once considered the words I had used. ‘The daughters of my daughters.’ Not one time in all these centuries did it occur to me there would be sons who would have female children. Young women who were as much of my blood and Rose’s as any child of a daughter.”

  When Pol turned, the sorrow on his face caught Dallyn by surprise.

  “Confronted with the magnitude of my error, I simply reacted, compounding what I had already done. You must find them, Dallyn. Find them and help them. Save them from what I have done to them.”

  Dallyn gripped the arms of the chair where he sat, the polished wood cold beneath his hands. “Do you know where we might begin? You told me once you had maintained a connection to your descendants.”

  The Prince’s lips tightened, his head shaking almost imperceptibly. “To the line of one of my daughters only, I fear. I’ve no idea what happened to the offspring of the other two. They have never visited my glen so I can only assume they have no knowledge of me. And after all these generations? Their numbers could be staggering.”

  Willing his legs not to shake, Dallyn rose from his chair. “I will begin at once, your highness.” With a respectful dip of his head, Dallyn walked out the door of Pol’s chambers.

  His mind raced as he made his way out of the Hall of the High Council. An unknown number of women roaming the Mortal Plain with the powers of the royal line of the Fae suddenly activated. And none of them with any understanding of what had happened to them.

  Worse yet, none of them would know anything about how to control those powers. Or about the threat they faced from the Nuadians.

  Dallyn had no idea where to begin the search. The best he could do would be to dispatch his Elite Guard. They would need to be vigilant now.

  It was a matter of watching and waiting for whatever happened next.

  One

  DUN ARD

  SCOTLAND

  DECEMBER 1295

  The clipped fall of boots on stone sounded loud in the deserted hallways of Dun Ard. Though few would be up and about at this early hour, Caden MacAlister had no doubt his cousin would already be hunkered over the estate accounts in his solar as he was each and every morning. Blane MacKiernan, Laird of the MacKiernan, taught the importance of hard work by setting an example.

  Caden paused at the heavy wooden door, unconsciously running a large hand through his tousled dark copper hair as he gathered his wits and his courage. He had considered his alternatives time and again. This must be done.

  He rapped his knuckles sharply against the door, the vibrations echoing in his stomach. Or was that simply nerves?

  “Enter.”

  He pushed open the door and approached his cousin’s desk. “I’ve come to a decision and I must speak with you.” Quickly. Before he lost his nerve.

  Blane looked up from the work spread in front of him, a smile creasing his face. “Very well, Caden. Have a seat and share yer great decision with me.”

  Caden shook his head, declining the offer to sit. He thought better on his feet. “You must choose one of my brothers as your heir. I’m no longer fit to be the next laird of the MacKiernan.” There. He’d said it. It was done.

  His cousin leaned back in his chair, studying the hands he steepled together. At last he looked up, a confused frown replacing his earlier smile. “I had thought you cared for our people and this land.”

  “I do. And that’s why I ask you to choose another as yer heir.” Even though this was all he had ever really wanted.

  “Explain yerself.”

  “The next laird should be someone who’ll love this place, these people. Someone who’ll look after them, improve their lot in life and pass it all on to his own son to do the same.” And he would never be able to do that.

  Blane nodded. “Exactly what I’ve chosen you to do, lad.”

  “I canna, Cousin. After what’s happened with Alycie, I ken now I’ll no ever wed. There will be no sons to succeed me.”

  He would never have a wife. Alycie had found the idea of marriage to him so repulsive she had betrayed his sister and cousin in order to escape him, almost causing their deaths. He would never again put his family in such jeopardy. Nor would he trust another woman. Alycie was now happily installed in the convent on Iona as she had wanted, and he would remain unmarried as the fates had obviously intended.

  “Yer young yet, Caden. Mayhap one day you’ll change yer mind on this.”

  “No. I’ll no allow any other lass to be forced to face marriage to me. I’ve made my decision, just as you made yers all those years ago.”

  Blane rose from his chair, coming around his desk to place a hand on his young cousin’s shoulder. “I chose never to wed because I feared any son of mine would carry the madness of my father and my brother. I would no risk exposing Dun Ard and her people to that tragedy again. Yer situation is entirely different. You take too much blame upon yerself, lad.”

  Caden shook his head. He deserved the blame. He knew his limitations. Of the three MacAlister brothers, he saw himself as the least desirable to a woman. He had neither Andrew’s pretty face nor Colin’s warrior abilities. He wanted only to manage Dun Ard. To find new ways to help their land and their people prosper. And while one day he would have been the laird of the MacKiernan, that alone wasn’t enough to hold a wife. He’d learned that from his experience with Alycie.

  No, Caden knew he was not meant to find the happiness of a mate in life. And though he had never known why his cousin remained unwed and childless, he suspected that Blane revealed his reason now in an attempt to provide solace. Solace he didn’t deserve. “Still, I dinna think…”

  “There’s no a need to think on this, lad. I willna choose any to be my heir other than you. I’ve invested too many years in you and you’ve learned too well the duties of a laird. You’ll go off to school as we’d planned, and when you return you’ll pick up where you left off. You are my heir and that’s my last word on the subject.”

  “And when I never wed? When I have no sons to continue the line?”

  Blane smiled again, squeezing Caden’s shoulder before he dropped his hand and walked back to his chair. “If that is the way of it, then you’ll do as I have and choose someone. Perhaps one of yer brothers’ brats will succeed you, aye? Now off with you. I’ve work to do before I take my morning meal.”

  Caden waited, unsure of what to do next. He’d struggled for weeks trying to make the right decision. And now that he finally had, Blane had dismissed his concerns as minor.

  “Go on,” Blane encouraged. “Oh, we’re still going out to inspect the sheep pens later this morning, are we no?”

  “If that’s yer wish,” Caden replied, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

  He was almost embarrassed at the relief he felt, knowing at least part of his life would continue as he’d always hoped. He would have Dun Ard to live for.

  And as for his own heir?

  Just as Blane had said, Drew and
Colin would marry and have sons. He would simply have to wait and watch to see what time would bring.

  Two

  PRAIRIELAND, TEXAS

  PRESENT DAY

  The quick clip of worn cowboy boots resonated joyously in the short hallway, bouncing off the hospital green walls of the clinic. It was all Ellie Denton could do to keep from skipping down the hall. So great was her relief as she pushed through the swinging door into the aged waiting room, she had to resist the urge to hug the elderly receptionist standing by the front desk.

  “Them test results come out okay, Ellie?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Miz Waller.” Ellie gave in to the urge and threw her arms around the little old woman, who giggled like a schoolgirl.

  “I’m real glad you got yourself some good news today, honey,” Ethel Waller murmured, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Ellie’s ear. “You sure do got your mama’s pretty black curls.” Then she giggled again and fanned herself with her thin, blue-veined hand. “But you got them green bedroom eyes straight from your daddy. Lordy, if he wasn’t the handsomest man I ever did see.” Ethel patted Ellie’s arm before returning to her chair behind the front desk. “You be real careful driving home now, you hear.”

  “I will, Miz Waller. Thank you.”

  That’s what came from living in the same small town her whole life. Everyone knew everything about her as if they were all family. Still, Ellie was grateful for the good news, too. Anything good in her life was way past due.