Healing the Tormented Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Read online

  Healing the Tormented Highlander

  A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

  Lydia Kendall

  Edited by

  Robin Spencer

  Contents

  A Little Gift for You

  Scottish Brogue Glossary

  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

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Preview: Enraptured by the Highlander

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Also by Lydia Kendall

  About the Author

  A Little Gift for You

  Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.

  As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you, called Falling for the Highlander. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping the image below or this link here.

  Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.

  Lydia Kendall

  About the Book

  Her secret led her to him, only to take her further away...

  Ceana Morvell sees her quiet life as a healer collapse, in the blink of an eye.

  At the sight of her parent’s desecrated graves, her heart breaks in two. Handed a key by her grandmother and bid to protect it at all costs, she is forced to flee under the cover of night.

  Raghnall MacCramhain, Laird of Mhaol Chaluim, struggles to protect his territory from English attacks. When a stunning but secretive healer appears at his doorstep, he finds it hard to focus on anything but her.

  Unable to resist their passion, the couple surrenders to their overpowering desire. But as their bond strengthens, Ceana’s presence attracts unwanted attention…

  When a hooded figure attacks Ceana and leads her to a secret place, she is given one sole choice: surrender the key or watch her grandmother perish. As she gazes upon a face she knows all too well, realization dawns: not only her time with Raghnall is over but she has also just stepped into the lion's den.

  Scottish Brogue Glossary

  Here is a very useful glossary my good friend and editor Gail Kiogima sent to me, that will help you better understand the Scottish Brogue used:

  aboot - about

  ach - oh

  afore - before

  an' - and

  anythin - anything

  a'side - beside

  askin' - asking

  a'tween - between

  auld - old

  aye - yes

  bampot - a jerk

  bare bannock- a type of biscuit

  bearin' - bearing

  beddin' - bedding or sleeping with

  bellend - a vulgar slang word

  blethering - blabbing

  blootered - drunk

  bonnie - beautiful or pretty

  bonniest - prettiest

  cannae - cannot

  chargin' - charging

  cheesin' - happy

  clocked - noticed

  c'mon- come on

  couldn'ae - couldn't

  coupla - couple of

  crivens - hell

  cuddie - idiot

  dae - do

  dinin' - dining

  dinnae - didn't or don't

  disnae - doesn't

  dobber - idiot

  doesn'ae - doesn't

  dolton - idiot

  doon - down

  dram - a measure of whiskey

  efter - after

  eh' - right

  'ere - here

  fer - for

  frein - friend

  fey - from

  gae - get or give

  git - a contemptible person

  gonnae - going to

  greetin' - dying

  hae - have

  hald - hold

  haven'ae - haven't

  heed - head

  heedstart - head start

  hid - had

  hoovered - gobbled

  intoxicated - drunk

  kip - rest

  lass - young girl

  leavin - leaving

  legless - drunk

  me - my

  nae - not

  no' - not

  noo - now

  nothin' - nothing,

  oan - on

  o' - of

  Och - an Olympian spirit who rules the sun

  oot- out

  packin- packing

  pished - drunk

  scooby - clue

  scran - food

  shite - shit

  sittin' - sitting

  so's - so as

  somethin' - something

  soonds ' sounds

  stonking - stinking

  tae - to

  teasin' - teasing

  thrawn - perverse, ill-tempered

  tryin' - trying

  wallops - idiot

  wee -small

  wheest - talking

  whit's - what's

  wi'- with

  wid - would

  wisnae - was not

  withoot - without

  wouldnae - wouldn't

  ya - you

  ye - you

  yea - yes

  ye'll - you'll

  yer - your

  yerself - yourself

  ye're - you're

  ye've - you've

  Chapter 1

  Scottish Borders, 1350

  Ceana Morvell was walking in the forest.

  It was a path she knew well. One which she and Maighread Morvell, her grandmother, would walk each day, collecting plants and herbs and enjoying one another’s company.

  They lived in a quiet corner of the Scottish Borders, several miles from their nearest neighbors and ten miles from the village of Kirklinton, where Ceana had been born. The death of her parents had brought her to live with her maternal grandmother and life in the countryside was all she had ever known.

  The day was bright and sunny, a gentle breeze blowing through the forest and Ceana’s mood was high. She loved these walks to visit her parents’ graves.

  The oak tree, the ash, the elder, the … now what is that? She thought to herself, pausing by a tall, spindly tree with light green leaves, ah yes, of course, a beech. How could I nae recognise that, and she tutted to herself.

  The forest held no fear for her, just a sense of closeness to the two people she had never known but thought so often about. She would ask her grandmother what they had been like and Maighread would tell her of their kind and gentle ways and that she took after her mother especially.

  Ceana often imagined what her life would have been like had they lived. Would she have lived a more normal life in the village of Kirklinton? Perhaps by now she would have been married or even with
child. But the thought held no sorrow for her.

  She was content to remain unmarried, happy in her grandmother’s company and she in hers. Her grandfather had died many years ago, long before Ceana had been born and her grandmother seemed as content to remain a widow as she had surely been happy as a wife.

  Now, what was that song I was singin’ the other day?

  She came to a gated path which led across the meadows towards the village.

  Ceana began to sing snatches of a little song which her grandmother had lately taught her. It was about a lass who goes off to sea and sails far away into the islands, only for her lover to follow her and declare his love, but a tragic end awaits them, as the sea dashes their ship upon the rocks and they end their lives together, clinging to one another in the waves.

  Her grandmother was a healer. A woman possessed of great wisdom and for whom nature was as familiar as her fellow man. Not only was Maighread Ceana’s grandmother but she was also her closest friend. Out in the countryside, Ceana had lived a sheltered life and she knew little of the ways of the world but she had seen much through her grandmother’s eyes.

  A year ago, her grandmother had saved the child of crofters across the border and even the priest had admitted it was a miracle. The child had been dying from a fever and the parents had begged Maighread to help. She had spent days searching the forest for the plants she needed and walked through the night to minister to the child, who had made a full recovery.

  Still, there were mutterings against her, but her grandmother had told Ceana she would rather be accused of witchcraft than see an innocent child laid in its grave when the chance to help was given. Ceana could not help but admire her for that, and as the tower of the kirk at Kirklinton came into view, she offered up a silent thanksgiving for the woman who had so shaped her life through her love and care.

  The track emerged from the forest and out onto farmland which straggled the moors to right and left. Kirklinton lay in a dell, sheltered on all sides by the rolling hills of the borderlands. Back to the south lay England, and Ceana had crossed the border to reach the village.

  She had never asked her grandmother why they lived south of the border but Maighread had always been adamant that it was there they would remain. She had no connections to the English and it was rare that any Englishman sought her grandmother’s wisdom. But the borderlands were often in dispute. A no man’s land between the kingdoms, where men vied for power and the threat of attack hung over them each day.

  But such conflicts had nothing to do with Ceana and her grandmother, content as they were to live a simple life in the forest, living off the land and keeping as far away from the troubles of the world as possible. Ceana paused just outside the graveyard, looking around her for the Scotch Broom her grandmother had asked for. She could see its distinctive yellow flowers on the far side of the graveyard, a great clump, which she hurried over to, picking off the flowers which her grandmother would make into a tonic.

  She began to hum to herself once more, her earlier embarrassment now forgotten and once she had collected enough of the flowers, she turned to cast her eyes over the graveyard towards the kirk.

  Her parent’s graves lay together on the other side of the kirk. She picked her way through the gravestones towards them, being careful not to step upon the grass immediately in front, for she was superstitious about graveyards, despite her grandmother’s insistence that they held no fear. Ceana was unsure what she believed. She knew of the Christian religion, though her grandmother had never practiced it and she had always wondered why her parents had been buried in the consecrated ground of the graveyard.

  It puzzled her and she was musing upon that very subject, as she rounded the corner of the kirk and came in sight of her parent’s graves. But what she saw next caused her to cry out in horror and she rushed forward towards the graves, tears filling her eyes.

  The graves had been desecrated, the simple stones which marked them smashed and pushed over. The ground in front had been disturbed, dug up, as though someone had been searching for something. Ceana rushed forward, throwing herself down on the ground and weeping at the sight which she now beheld. Her parent’s graves were always well-kept and she had picked wild flowers in the forest to place upon them.

  Who could have done such a terrible thing? Who could have been so cruel? Oh, wicked world and wicked people.

  She was sobbing, clawing at the disturbed earth, her clothes becoming muddied and dirty. Tears ran down her face and she looked around her, lest there be any signs of the person responsible. But the graveyard was quiet and she could see no one around her, and heard only the sound of the breeze blowing in the trees above and the sounds of birds chirping to one another in the branches.

  Her parent’s graves were the only ones to have been desecrated and a tremble of fear ran through her, as she wondered who it was who had targeted her family in such a way.

  Did someone hold a vendetta against her grandmother, or a long-held grudge against her parents? ‘Tis all so horrible, she thought, shaking her head.

  They had been dead these twenty years past and not once had an incident like this occurred—why now?

  Ceana did her best to replace the disturbed tufts of soil and grass. She righted the stones, though one was smashed beyond repair, and laid the posies of flowers on top of the graves, whispering a silent prayer to herself, as she stood looking down at the desecration before her. She sighed and wiped her eyes, a deep sense of sadness pervading her, and she shook her head, as a fresh tear ran down her cheek.

  “I am sorry, Mother, I am sorry Father. I will find who did this, I promise ye,” she said out loud, but there were only the trees and the birds to hear her, the deserted graveyard growing suddenly eerie and foreboding.

  Tears ran down her face once more as though about it and it seemed as though the innocence of her childhood was now lost. Her parents’ memory was sacred to her and now it had been destroyed by an act of terrible vandalism.

  How I miss ye, Mother, how I miss ye, Father and yet I did nae even know ye.

  She hurried through the forest, wanting to tell her grandmother what had happened immediately. She would know what to do and perhaps she would have an idea of who was responsible. A sense of threat now hung in the air, and despite the familiarity of the path, Ceana felt scared to be walking alone as darkness began to fall.

  She felt a rising sense of panic within her and looked back, as though expecting some hideous monster to pounce upon her from the darkness. She was startled by the sound of the owl, hooting in the trees above and its sound was like a warning to her, urging her to turn back from some danger ahead. But instead she pressed on, hurrying through the forest, until at last her grandmother’s cottage came into sight.

  Grandmother will know what to dae, she always kens what to dae.

  Ceana was surprised to see no light in the windows of the cottage.

  There was no sign of life in the cottage, which was unusual, and as she approached through the trees she paused, peering nervously through the darkness. Perhaps her grandmother had already left for her walk and forgotten to light the candle. Or perhaps she had already taken to her bed, though it would be unusual at such an early hour.

  Ceana wanted to call out for her, but something within her prevented it. In the distance, the owl hooted through the trees, causing her to be startled once more, and pull her shawl tightly around her. Cautiously, she approached the cottage, glancing nervously behind her. The gate into the little garden, where her grandmother grew herbs, was open, flung back on its hinges, though the door ahead was closed. Ceana drew a deep breath and walked forward, straining her ears for any sounds coming from within.

  Tis strange, where are the lights? Grandmother always leaves a candle for me, but she is never out at this hour.

  Should I call out? Surely she is here?

  As she peered through the darkness, she was about to call out for her grandmother, when a hand clasped around her face pulling her back from
the door, which swung shut behind her, plunging the cottage deeper into darkness. She tried to struggle, thrashing her arms about wildly, her heart racing within her.

  Chapter 2

  “Be quiet, Ceana. All will be well, I promise ye, but ye must dae as I tell ye now,” her grandmother said, and Ceana let out a sigh of relief, almost collapsing onto the floor in relief, knowing her grandmother to be safe.

  “Grandmother,” she hissed, “what is wrong, is there some trouble? A terrible thing has happened—the graves have been desecrated. I have hurried home as quickly as possible. Someone has smashed them to smithereens and dug deep into the ground. They touched none of the other graves, only that of me parents. Has somethin’ happened here, too?”

  Her grandmother was silent for a moment, seeming to digest this new information with interest, as they stood together in the darkness. Ceana was desperate to know what had happened and why her grandmother, who had appeared to be normal that morning, should have taken on such bizarre behavior.