Captured by the cruel hi.., p.1
Captured by the Cruel Highlander: A Highlanders Historical Romance Novel, page 1
CAPTURED BY THE CRUEL HIGHLANDER
A Scottish Historical Romance Novel
UNWANTED HIGHLAND WIVES
BOOK I
ELOISE MADIGAN
CONTENTS
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Before You Start Reading…
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Preview: A Virgin for the Highland Beast
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Also by Eloise Madigan
About the Author
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ABOUT THE BOOK
“For now, all ye have is me. Yer words, yer body, even yer breaths belong to me.”
Laird Adam would do anything to get his sister back. Even hunt down the man who wronged her…only to steal his bride.
Emily is forced to marry a vicious man to save her family. Up until the last minute, she prays for a way out...That's when the most handsome –and lethal-looking– Laird crashes her wedding.
But he's not an angel sent from above to help her. He's a villain far more dangerous –and seductive– than she can imagine. Someone who wants to trap her in a white marriage as part of his plan...Or so he says, just before he hungrily claims her lips.
BEFORE YOU START READING…
Before you start reading...
Why would a feisty lass like Emily be forced to marry such a vicious man? And how is the villain’s obsession with her connected to Adam’s sister? If you’re curious, read this Prequel Chapter about their past. It will help you picture my story and these characters better in your mind.
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Read the beginning of the their story here.
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1
“This is madness!”
Bruce Murray, the heir of Clan Wilkinson, was raging.
Emily worried the wedding guests might hear her brother on what should have been a joyous day.
As she stood in her wedding dress, waiting to be summoned, her father and brother joined her. They were all now standing in the back room of the kirk before the bells began tolling. She felt sick.
Her father’s grey eyes were locked onto hers in silent solidarity.
“He is right,” Laird Wilkinson said urgently. “Emily, ye dinnae have to go through with this. We can find another way.”
“What way, Faither?” she demanded.
There was a soft murmuring of voices outside as the wedding guests took their seats. It would not be long before she left her beloved family forever.
“We’ll fight him,” Bruce insisted, walking back toward her. His handsome face was white with anger, his lips pressed together into a thin line. He grasped her hands in his, his green eyes, just like her own, entreating her to reconsider.
Emily shook her head. “We cannae fight him, Bruce. Ye ken that very well.”
“What do I ken?” Bruce cried. He let her go and began to pace. “We have enough men to fight him if we plan the battles strategically.”
Emily watched the war machine in her brother’s mind come alive. He was a gifted soldier and a loyal man. Ever since she had told him of James’s proposal, he had been arguing the case for war. She closed her eyes as his arms began the familiar dance, gesticulating madly as he made his case.
“We have fewer men, ‘tis true, but between ye, me, and our faither, we have brains enough to stand against this tide. His men will have to travel for many days to reach us. There could be a siege—we could hold him off. We have allies. Let them come.”
He turned, his eyes flashing. He had run his fingers through his thick golden hair so many times that it looked wild as his eyes flicked between Emily and their father.
“Will ye nae say somethin’, Da?” he demanded, but Laird Wilkinson only raised his hands despairingly.
“Bruce, it is nay use,” Emily whispered.
Her brother lunged at her, gripping her hands again, his eyes shining with tears. “Ye willnae even try? Ye cannae marry him, Emily! He’s the worst man I ever kenned.”
“Aye?” she said bitterly. “And if I dinnae, he will kill ye both. We are outnumbered by the Stewart army twenty to one. Da kens it, I ken it—”
“But—”
“She’s right, Son,” Laird Wilkinson’s deep voice rang out. It was, and had always been, a voice of unwavering authority. Emily had never heard him sound so somber. “Laird Orkney is many things, but he is, first and foremost, a warrior. It pains me to admit it, but nay strategy in the world can enable us to win against him.”
“I willnae let our people suffer a siege,” Emily added firmly. “I ken that this is torture for us all, but we have nay choice, Bruce!”
Her brother clenched his fists at his sides and shook his head. Stalking to the fireplace, he placed both hands on the mantelpiece, flexing them against the stone as though to break it in two.
“I cannae bear it,” he muttered.
“Ye must bear it,” Emily stated. “We all must. He has made his bargain, and he has us in the palm of his hand. Perhaps we may have the strength to fight one day. I can only pray I’ll be rid of him then, but until that time comes, the weddin’ must go ahead.”
She felt fear burning in her chest, but she would not show it. Bruce was headstrong and angry, while she was rational. She knew very well the risks—what she would have to give up. She would do it a thousand times over to protect her family and her people.
A fresh wave of fear coursed through her at the thought of her clan. So many of them turned to her in times of need—not to mention the servants in the castle, who had treated her as their mistress since she turned eighteen.
What will they all do without me? How will they cope when I am gone?
“At least let me give ye away,” Bruce muttered, dragging her back to the present. “Ye cannae walk down the aisle alone.”
Emily raised her chin defiantly. “Nay. I shallnae be given away when I am nae truly leavin’.” She lowered her voice to a sharp whisper. “I will never be loyal to him. I will never bow to him. Believe me, Braither, when I tell ye that I will fight James Stewart every day for the rest of me life until I have nay breath left. He will regret the day he forced me to be his wife—that is me solemn vow.”
There was a loud knock at the door, and Lewis Brown, Laird Orkney’s burly man-at-arms, pushed it open without waiting for their reply.
He had a cruel face and looked at Emily as though she were the lowest form of life he had ever seen.
Emily stood up to her full height, glaring at him with all the disdain she could muster.
“Are ye hidin’ behind yer family until Whitsun, or are ye comin’ out?” the man barked. “Dinnae make me drag ye down the aisle.”
Bruce drew a dirk from his belt. “Try it.”
Emily swiftly laid a hand on his arm. “Go to yer seats,” she implored, tightening her grip. “Dinnae make this worse.”
Bruce looked at her, then at their father, and finally lowered the dagger.
The man-at-arms had not even touched the hilt of his own weapon. It was a painful reminder of how little power they wielded. He knew they had no chance of beating him, and he watched smugly as her brother was forced to comply.
Laird Wilkinson walked to the door with heavy steps.
“I love ye,” Emily whispered. Her words had never felt so raw or true.
Bruce and her father turned back, both simply nodding in reply. Neither man was free with his emotions, and Emily was glad of it. If she had heard those words returned today, she might have succumbed to the tears that pricked the back of her eyes.
She watched them go with a sense of anger so acute that she could barely shake it.
How has it come to this?
Lewis Brown stood back, his eyes roaming over her lasciviously. His look of perpetual amu
Emily took a deep breath before walking out of the room.
As she turned the corner, the aisle and the main chapel were laid out before her. There was a high window at the back, letting in colored light through the stained glass. The rays fell on the congregation, muted patterns dancing across the still, silent crowd.
Everything was decorated in the Stewart house colors of brown and gold. To her eyes, it was subdued and drab. It evoked the image of a gloomy day in the Scottish Highlands—the sky heavy, clouds banked with rain. There seemed to be a grey haze over everything she surveyed.
Finally, she gathered her courage and let her eyes settle on the silhouette of the groom ahead of her.
James Stewart. The worst laird in the Highlands. He had a fearsome reputation and a cruel, heartless demeanor.
And today, I will be tied to him forever.
She was acutely aware of the door behind her leading to the graveyard. If she ran as fast as she could, perhaps she might win her freedom. The thought of stealing a horse and fleeing was tantalizing.
Her gaze shifted to her brother and father, who now sat at the front of the kirk. They were both motionless, her father stiff as he stared ahead of him. A bolt of fear ran down her spine as she imagined what would happen if she were to run.
Laird Orkney had been clear—her family would face the consequences. She was under no illusions that he would not follow through on his threat. He had done it before, many times. Villages had been burned, cattle killed, and crops destroyed. For years, she had heard of his exploits, his hungry need for power—his greed. She would be naive to think he was bluffing now.
She steeled herself, taking a deep breath. The dark brown dress she wore was ugly and uncomfortable. She hated the color and everything representing the clan she would soon be trapped in.
As she stepped forward, she prayed for an escape from her predicament. Was there anything they had not thought of? Any means they could employ to turn this tide?
Perhaps I could kill him, she thought with morbid amusement. The moment he is vulnerable in our marriage bed, I could simply slit his throat.
But that would guarantee war. At least this way, she could protect those she loved, even if it meant destroying her future and any chance of happiness.
She slowly began to walk down the aisle as the music played. Her father and her brother turned as she approached, their expressions grim.
Laird Orkney twisted to watch her, his hazel eyes eating up the distance between them. Already, she could see the look on his face was one of possession, not affection. There would never be love between them. She had already heard too many rumors to count about his treatment of other women.
She shuddered at the sneer on his face. He looked feral, as though he might try to take her right there in the aisle. All he wanted was her body, and she felt revulsion at the idea of ever allowing him to touch her.
As she drew level with him, he took her hand as she fought the urge to snatch it away. He did not offer his own and wait for her to take it. He grabbed her fingers like she already belonged to him.
She took in another deep breath, his clammy palm holding her own with an iron grip. As the priest turned away to face the altar for the opening prayer, Emily could feel Laird Orkney looking at her. She glanced at him and tried not to grimace.
“Ye look beautiful, me bride,” he said quietly, for her ears only. “I am eager to get ye out of that dress.”
She did grimace then. “I will never be yers—I would rather die.”
“But it willnae be ye who suffers if ye dinnae give me what I want,” he said ominously. “Ye and I will have a long life together. If ye try to escape me, I’ll destroy everythin’ ye love.”
She clenched her jaw, her left hand gripping the fabric of her dress so tightly that she could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips.
“Be a good lass and do as ye’re told, and all of this will be smooth and easy.” His voice dripped with mirth, and Emily held back the violent urge to stomp on his foot.
The priest turned. He was a portly man with piggy eyes and a red hue to his skin. He did not even look at her but smiled at Laird Orkney warmly, as though officiating a forced wedding was quite ordinary.
Please, if anyone is listenin’, let this weddin’ be stopped, she thought desperately.
“In the presence of Almighty God and these witnesses,” the priest began, “we gather this day to solemnize the union of this man and this woman in holy matrimony—”
“I wouldnae do that if I were ye,” came a booming voice from the back of the kirk.
2
War cries rang out behind her, and Emily turned around in total shock.
Suddenly, soldiers were all over the kirk, attacking James’s men where they stood. They were huge, beefy warriors, overpowering everyone in their path.
Her eyes darted around, trying to take in everything at once, but it was the man at the bottom of the aisle who truly captured her attention.
He was enormous. On his shoulders was a thick layer of fur resting over a tight leather tunic. A tartan sash was fastened with the brooch of his clan, which gleamed on his shoulder. Long dark hair fell about his neck, with dark stubble covering his jaw. His arms were bare, and she could see a spider’s web of scars on them, starkly white against his tanned skin. His eyes were fixed on Laird Orkney, dark and filled with rage.
Emily instinctively took a step back. As she did so, his piercing eyes found hers, and she froze in place. Hardly able to take in a full breath, she drank him in.
In an instant, he was moving. Great thumping steps brought him level with her in a few short strides. Laird Orkney hollered furiously as two enemy soldiers gripped him by the arms and forced him to his knees.
Emily looked up into the chiseled, angry face of the newcomer and decided now would be a good time to move. She lurched sideways away from him, but he was quicker than her.
His arms came around her waist, and she was spun around on the spot. Something was tied tightly around her wrists.
“Unhand me!” she screamed as she was lifted over a massive shoulder.
She was rendered utterly immobile by an enormous hand on her back. She gasped in shock as the same hand patted her on the backside as though she were a dog that had done its master’s bidding.
“I’ll kill ye for this,” Laird Orkney bellowed, wrestling against the men who still held him down. His eyes were murderous and dark, and he was breathing heavily.
“Och, aye?” The stranger sounded unconcerned. “Ye plannin’ to do that now, or shall I wait for ye to get up?” he asked with a sneer.
But to Emily’s surprise, Laird Orkney sprang into action.
He raised one knee, spun about, drew a knife from his boot, and sliced at one of his captors. The man bellowed, stepping back as Orkney planted a fist into the other man’s jaw. In a moment, he was on his feet, sword in hand, turning to the newcomer with renewed vigor.
Emily rocked sideways violently as the man holding her wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her in place. He had his sword in his hand, too, as the Lairds faced off against one another.
“Ye are in nay position to make threats,” the stranger spat.
Emily could see he was right. Every one of James’s men had been overpowered, and no one in the congregation looked as though they would fight for him.
In a panic, she twisted around to see what had become of her father and brother. Fear sliced through her as her gaze fell on them. Bruce had put up a fight and had a cut beneath his eye. They were both kneeling beside one another, watched over by two enemy men, swords pressed to their throats.
