Surrendered to the Highland Brute (Preview)
Chapter One
Glen of Leny, near Callander, Scotland, 1372
“I willnae dae it, I tell ye.”
The Glen of Leny stretched around them, a neutral ground where Clan Fletcher, Cameron nor any clan claimed dominion. Here, between the routes of Argyll and Lochaber, two clans had raised their tents for the formal exchange that would bind their houses in alliance. Today, Isla Fletcher would be handed over to her betrothed, Seoc Cameron, sealing a debt nine years in the making.
Isla’s words hung between them in the tent, even after she had stopped talking. Her mother’s hands stilled on the silver-handled brush she’d been fiddling nervously with, her reflection meeting her daughter’s in the small looking glass.
The maids had been fussing over Isla’s hair for what felt like hours, weaving ribbons through the dark strands and pinching her cheeks to bring color to them. At Isla’s words, movement stilled in the room.
“Leave us,” Jane Fletcher spoke in a whisper, her tone deadly calm. “I’ll finish preparin’ her meself.”
When the last maid curtsied and left the tent, her mother turned to her.
“Ye will, because ye must.”
Her mother reached for her hair, but Isla jerked away from her touch, sending the carefully arranged ribbons scattering across the makeshift dressing table.
“Must I? Or is this just more convenient than findin’ another way tae solve our clan’s problems?”
“Isla Fletcher.” Her mother’s voice carried the steel that had made her a formidable lady of the Highlands despite her gentle appearance. “Sit down.”
“I’m twenty years old, nae a child tae be dressed up and handed over.” Isla stood straighter, matching her tone with her own. But then, she sighed, sitting down anyway. “Maither, I’m too young tae be bound tae a man.”
“So are ye too young or nae too young? Make up yer mind, lass,” Her mother’s laugh held no humor. “I can tell ye ye’re nae too young tae understand duty, or tae honor the debt that saved yer very life. Many lasses wed younger than ye, and with far less cause fer gratitude.”
Her mother set the brush aside with deliberate calm. “Look at me daughter”, she placed a palm under Isla’s chin and lifted it so Isla was forced to look into her eyes. “Ye need to understand that yer marriage is fer the sake of the progress of both our clans.”
“So I am tae be traded off like cattle at market.”
“How dare ye say that when good men died tae bring ye home?” Her green eyes blazed with fury Isla had rarely seen. “Fer heaven’s sake, daughter, Seoc Cameron rode intae English territory tae pull ye from Lancaster’s dungeons!”
Isla felt her heart begin to race at the memory. He had appeared like a hero from the legends and saved her. She had never forgotten him and her heart had fluttered every time she had seen him since. But she didn’t really know him and, now that the time had actually come, worried that her feelings were just a childhood fantasy and not strong enough to leave her home, her family and face being tied to someone that she realistically barely knew for the rest of her life. “That was nine years ago,” she whispered.
“Nine years, three months, and sixteen days.” The precise count stopped her cold. “Dae ye think I’ve forgotten? Dae ye think yer faither has? Ye were eleven years old, Isla, eleven, and if nae fer the Camerons…”
She didn’t need to finish. Isla remembered enough. The cold stone walls, the English voices outside her cell, the gnawing certainty that she would never see home again. Then boots on stairs, Scottish voices shouting, and a young warrior with grey eyes pulling her into the light. She would never forget those eyes.
“I remember,” Isla whispered. “When he… when he brought me home.”
Her mother’s expression softened. “Aye, I ken ye dae. Ye were quite taken with him then.”
Heat flooded Isla’s cheeks. “I was eleven, Maither. A child with foolish fancies.”
“Foolish? The lad risked his life fer ye, asked fer naethin’ in return. That’s the stuff of ballads, daughter.”
“That’s different from this.” Isla gestured helplessly at her wedding finery. “He was kind tae a frightened child. It daesnae mean he’ll be a good husband tae the woman I’ve become.”
Jane tilted her head, studying her daughter. “What dae ye remember of him?”
Despite herself, Isla smiled slightly. “Grey eyes. He had the most remarkable grey eyes, like storm clouds. And he spoke tae me like I was a real person, nae like I was just some poor lass needin’ rescuin’.” She paused. “He promised he’d see me safely home, and he did. Every mile of that journey, he made sure I felt protected.”
“Then ye remember what we owe them.”
“Maither…” Feeling helpless, Isla sank back onto the wooden stool. “What terms is Faither discussin’ with the Camerons? What exactly are they negotiatin’ in that tent?”
Jane resumed brushing her hair, but her movements had grown careful, guarded. “I dinnae ken the details, daughter.”
“Ye dinnae ken? Or ye willnae tell me?”
“Truly, I dinnae ken. Yer faither… he keeps such matters between himself and his advisors.” Her voice softened. “But I’m certain he’s daein’ his best tae ensure ye’ll be well cared fer.”
Isla felt a chill that had nothing to do with the Highland air. If her own mother didn’t know what price was being negotiated for her hand, what did that say about her value in this arrangement?
But there was nothing she could do to change it. Nothing she could say that would matter. Her fate was being decided by men in another tent. The realization settled in her stomach like a cold stone.
Her mother must have seen something in her expression, because she moved to stand beside her stool. Her hands were warm as they covered Isla’s cold ones.
“Listen tae me, daughter,” she said softly. “I ken this feels like the end of everythin’ ye’ve kent. But marriage… it daesnae have tae be a prison.”
“How can ye say that when ye see what little choice I have?”
“Love can grow, sweetheart, even from the smallest beginnings.”
Isla felt a flutter stir in her belly, even as her mind flashed to Seoc’s grey eyes. Those had all been mere fantasies of a lass. Everything was different now.
“What if it daesnae?” She whispered.
“Then ye make the best of what ye have. Ye’re strong, Isla, stronger than ye ken. And from what I remember of young Seoc Cameron, he’s an honorable man. Only an honorable man would have saved ye the way he did when he had naethin’ to gain.”
Jane pulled her into a gentle embrace. “It’s nae always so terrible as it seems in the beginnin’.”
“What’s he like now?” she asked finally. “Seoc.”
Her mother pulled back, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Tired, I would guess. Angry more likely. His faither clung tae power too long, and the clan suffered fer it. Failed harvests, constant raids from the Mackintoshes…” She paused. “His braither died in a skirmish last spring.”
“I didnae ken.”
“Aye. The heir, golden-haired Ewan, everythin’ Raibeart wanted in a son.” Her voice held sympathy Isla hadn’t expected. “Now Seoc carries that burden too.”
Before she could ask more, a small tornado burst through the tent flap in the form of her nine-year-old brother.
“Isla!” Ualan launched himself at her with enough force to nearly topple them both. “Faither willnae let me come with ye! I told him I could help guard ye and fight the Mackintoshes.”
“Hello, little warrior.” Isla caught him in a fierce hug, breathing in his familiar scent of sunshine and mischief. At least this would be simple. Ualan loved her without conditions or political calculations. “Ye cannae come because I need ye tae dae somethin’ more important.”
His bright eyes, their father’s eyes, widened with interest. “What?”
“Keep Da from doaen’ anythin’ too reckless while I’m gone. Ye ken how he gets when he’s worried.”
Ualan considered this with the gravity that only children can manage. “Like when he wanted tae raid the Mackintosh borders after they stole our cattle?”
“Exactly like that.”
He seemed to approve of the idea, and nodded. “Then be sure tae write me. Tell me about Cameron lands and if their castle is really built into the mountainside like people say?”
The eager trust in his voice made her throat tight. “Every week, I promise.”
“When I’m laird, I’ll make sure ye’re happy,” he declared with absolute certainty. “Even if ye’re married to someone scary.”
Mother and Isla exchanged glances over his head.
“Seoc Cameron isnae scary,” Isla said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it. “He’s just… serious.”
“Faither says he’s a good warrior, that he fights with two swords sometimes, like the heroes in the old stories.”
“Daes he now?” Despite everything, Isla found herself smiling. “Well, that’s somethin’, at least.”
Ualan bounced on his toes. “Will ye learn tae fight with two swords? Ladies can be warriors too, right? Like in the songs?”
“Ualan,” their mother warned, but Isla was already nodding.
“If I want tae learn, I will. Lady Cameron should ken how tae defend her people.”
Ualan’s eyes lit up with mischief. He snatched one of the silk ribbons from the dressing table and tied it around his forehead like a warrior’s band.
“Look, Isla! I’m a fierce Highland warrior come tae rescue ye from the terrible Cameron dragon!”
Despite everything, Isla laughed. “A dragon, is he now?”
“Aye! With great big teeth and claws, and he hoards gold in his mountain castle!” Ualan struck a heroic pose, wielding her hair brush like a sword. “But fear not, fair maiden, fer I shall slay the beast and bring ye home!”
“And what if the dragon turns out tae be a decent sort?” Isla asked, catching him as he leaped onto her lap. “What if he just needs someone tae understand him?”
Ualan considered this. “Then maybe ye could teach him to be nice instead of scary. Dragons probably just need friends.”
Their mother watched this exchange, and Isla caught tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. “Ualan, ye shouldnae fill yer sister’s head with such tales.”
“Why nae?” Isla asked, hugging her brother close. “Maybe there’s wisdom in children’s stories.”
The thundering of hooves cut through their conversation. All three of them froze. The sound was wrong, too urgent, with too many horses moving too fast. Through the canvas walls, they heard men shouting warnings.
“Stay with Maither,” Isla commanded Ualan, already moving toward the tent flap.
“Isla.” Her mother’s voice followed her as she pushed it aside to peep outside.
Chaos had erupted across the Glen of Leny. Mackintosh raiders swept through their camp like a black tide, their war cries splitting the afternoon air. They moved with deadly precision, bypassing the supply wagons and heading straight for the Fletcher tents.
Her mother’s voice appeared behind her. “Run,” her mother ordered. “Isla take yer braither and run tae the river.”
“Nay, maither. I willnae leave ye!” Isla protested.
“Ye will.” Steel rang as her mother drew the eating knife from her belt, such a small blade, but her grip was steady. “I didnae survive the English wars tae fall tae Mackintosh raiders. But I need ye and Ualan tae be safe. Now go!”
Isla grabbed Ualan’s hand and ran. They dodged between tents and wagons, her brother’s small legs pumping to keep up. Behind them, the clash of steel on steel rang out as their men engaged the raiders, but she could hear pursuit, hoofbeats gaining on them with every step.
A tent rope caught Ualan’s foot, sending him stumbling. Isla yanked him upright, pulling him behind an overturned supply cart.
“Stay low,” she whispered, pressing him against the wooden wheel. “Follow me, but stay behind the carts.”
They crept forward, using the scattered supplies as cover. When a mounted raider thundered past, searching, Isla pushed Ualan flat against the ground, covering him with her own body until the hoofbeats faded.
“The river, like Maither said,” she breathed in his ear. “We make fer the river.”
They broke from cover, running hand in hand toward the water. Ualan’s shorter stride forced her to slow, making them easy targets. When he stumbled again, she didn’t hesitate. She scooped him up and carried him, her skirts tangling around her legs as she ran.
“Put me down!” he protested. “I can run!” Despite his brave words, Isla could see he was getting tired.
“Nae fast enough,” she panted, but the extra weight was slowing her even more. She put him down, dragging him by his hand.
The river lay just ahead, but they’d never make it, not with the way Ualan was slowing down. Left with no choice, Isla pulled him toward a cluster of boulders near the water’s edge and shoved him into the space between them.
“Hide here,” she panted. “Dinnae come out until Faither, Maither or I come fer ye.”
His eyes were wide with terror, but he nodded. Her brave little brother. Isla turned to face their pursuers, three Mackintosh warriors who had dismounted and were approaching on foot, clearly going for her. She veered in the opposite direction, hoping she could outrun them.
“There!” A rough voice shouted. “The Fletcher girl!”
Isla’s heart hammered as she heard them closing in.
“Lady Isla Fletcher.” He made a mocking bow. “Ye’ll be comin’ with us.”
Ualan, dinnae come out nay matter what ye hear. Please, stay safe.
Chapter Two
“I think nae,” she snapped back.
“Aye, ye will. Cannae have the Fletchers and Camerons unitin’ against us, can we? This wedding dies today, along with any alliance it might bring.”
“Aye. Tam Mackintosh sends his regards,” another raider added with a cruel smile.
Tam Mackintosh.
The name sent ice through her veins. She had somehow thought they planned to use the distraction of her wedding ceremony to start a battle, but they intended to destroy any possible clan alliances entirely.
Without her, there would be no marriage, no bond between the clans, and the Mackintoshes could pick off both Fletcher and Cameron forces separately. She had not been a willing bride to Seoc, but this was unacceptable.
“Over me dead body,” she snarled.
“That can be arranged, lass. But Tam would prefer ye alive. Makes fer better leverage.”
Desperate, Isla bolted toward the trees. Rough hands seized her left arm, spinning her around. Another grabbed her right wrist.
“Got her!”
She drove her knee upward, connecting with solid flesh. The man grunted and his grip loosened. She wrenched free and lunged forward again.
A third warrior stepped into her path. She raked her nails across his face, leaving bloody furrows. He cursed and backhanded her, but she ducked low and bit down hard on the first man’s hand.
“Highland devils! The bitch has teeth!”
They swarmed her then, too many hands to fight off. One caught her hair, yanking her head back. Another pinned her arms.
“Spirited,” one grunted as her elbow connected with his ribs. “Tam will enjoy breakin’ that.”
They dragged her toward their horses, but she knew once they got her mounted, she’d disappear forever. Desperation lent her strength she didn’t know she possessed. She broke free, running like the wind.
Her feet slipped on the wet stones at the river’s edge. Just three more steps and she’d be in the water, where the current might carry her beyond their reach. But heavy boots pounded behind her, and a hand seized the back of her torn gown.
“Not so fast, lass!”
The fabric ripped as she was yanked backward. She stumbled, her knees striking the rocky ground with a crack that sent pain shooting up her legs. Blood seeped through the torn fabric of her dress where the stones had bitten deep. Her hands were scraped raw from clawing at the rocks, and her shoulder throbbed where they’d wrenched her arm behind her back.
“Nowhere left to run now,” the leader panted, standing over her.
Isla rolled onto her back, her chest heaving. The river gurgled mockingly just beyond her reach, so close she could feel the spray on her face. The three armed men loomed above her with triumph in their eyes. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat echoing in her ears like war drums. The taste of blood filled her mouth where she’d bitten her tongue during the struggle.
This is it, then. All me plans, all me protests about the marriage. None of it matters now. I’ll never see me family again. Or Seoc.
Even as the thought flashed through her mind, it was quickly followed by surprise that her last thought would be of Seoc Cameron.
But she had no time to reason it further. If the Mackintoshes took her, they’d use her as a weapon against both clans. Her father would be forced to choose between his daughter and his people. The Camerons would lose their alliance, their hope of strengthening their position.
And Ualan, her sweet, brave Ualan hiding in those rocks, would grow up knowing his sister had been taken while he cowered like a child. The thought filled her with rage hotter than her fear.
“Enough games,” the leader snarled, reaching for her. Isla scrambled backward on her hands and knees.
Ualan. I hope ye’re safe.
“Ye’re coming with—” The man’s words died as steel sang through the air behind him. His eyes went wide, blood frothing at his lips before he crumpled forward.
A man burst through the smoke, his sword already in motion, cutting down the raider closest to Isla. The Mackintosh warrior crumpled with a gurgled cry.
“This is neutral ground. Ye have nay claim here.”
The remaining Mackintosh raiders didn’t flee. Instead, they spread out in a practiced formation, weapons ready.
The leader spat. “Ye think three men can stop us? We’ve been killin’ yer kind since before ye could hold a sword.”
The newcomer stepped between Isla and her remaining captors, his sword gleaming red in the fading light. Even through her terror, she noticed he was at least a head taller than every other man there, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that caught the last rays of sunlight.
Something was familiar about his form, but Isla did not have time to dwell on that because at that moment, two more warriors emerged from the tree line directly behind him. They were not charging blindly, but moving with calculated precision.
One man circled left toward the higher ground near the river bend, while the other took position to block any retreat toward the horses. A trap, expertly laid.
“Get back!” the newcomer roared, and his voice carried absolute authority.
His men moved instantly, no hesitation, no question.
“Take the flanks,” he commanded without turning his head, his voice cutting through the clash of steel. “Dinnae let them reach the horses.”
By now, the Mackintosh raiders found themselves trapped in a deadly triangle, their escape routes systematically cut off. It was done like a military operation, and executed with the precision of a seasoned commander.
The remaining Mackintosh raiders found themselves outflanked, but they fought with desperate fury.
“Kill them all!” one raider snarled, raising his sword.
The newcomer moved like death itself. His blade caught the raider’s strike, turned it aside, and in the same fluid motion, drove deep into the man’s chest. Steel grated against bone. The raider’s scream cut off abruptly.
To his left, another warrior opened a second raider’s throat with surgical precision. Blood sprayed across the stones. The third Cameron warrior drove his opponent back against the rocks, forcing him into the shallows where footing turned treacherous.
“Behind ye!” the newcomer barked, and his man spun just in time to parry a desperate thrust.
Isla pressed herself against the ground, transfixed by the deadly ballet before her. The newcomer fought with cold efficiency, each movement calculated, lethal.
Those features, sharper now, hardened by years of war… but the strong jaw, the high cheekbones, the way he moved with predatory grace.
There was something about his stance, the way he held his sword, that made her breath catch in its familiarity. Impossibly familiar.
As she stared, the battle faded away, replaced by a memory that hit her like a physical blow. She was eleven again, huddled in that dank Lancaster dungeon, when the door had burst open and light had flooded in.
A young warrior had knelt beside her with that same familiar aura full of fierce protection.
“Are ye hurt, lass? Dinnae fear. Ye’re safe now.”
She’d gazed up at him like he was something from the old tales. Even through her terror and gratitude, she’d noticed how handsome he was, how his dark hair had caught the torchlight, how gentle his hands were as he lifted her.
And just like back then, nine years ago, her heart stopped.
“Seoc?” she gasped, though the sound was lost in the clash of steel.
But this man before her now… this wasn’t the earnest young warrior of her girlish dreams. War had carved away everything soft, leaving only edges sharp enough to cut.
He feinted left, drawing his opponent’s guard high, then reversed his grip and drove the pommel of his sword into the man’s temple. The raider dropped like a stone.
“Secure the area,” he ordered, wiping his blade clean with practiced efficiency. “Check for more of them in the trees. And see if any of their horses carry messages.”
The last Mackintosh fighter, seeing his companions fall, backed toward his horse. “This isnae finished, Cameron!”
“Aye, it is.” His voice carried quiet finality.
Cameron. So it is ye. It is really ye.
The surviving raider leaped onto his mount and spurred away into the smoke, but Isla barely noticed. Her entire world had narrowed to the man now turning toward her.
When their eyes met, time seemed to suspend.
“Are ye hurt, lass?”
Same question. But where he had asked her nine years ago with tender concern, now his voice was flat, emotionless.
Isla tried to speak, but no words came. The boy who’d saved her had become something magnificent and terrible. Her rescuer. Her betrothed. The man who would own her body and soul.
But why was he looking at her like she was nothing more than a necessary inconvenience? And why was his voice so cold, so devoid of recognition?
“Seoc,” she finally whispered, and the single word carried all her relief, her gratitude, and her sudden, overwhelming realization that her rescuer might just be seeing her as nothing more than his lawful captive.
If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here
