Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Read online

  Soul Of A Highlander

  Lairds of Dunkeld Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

  Emilia Ferguson

  MOUNTAINSKY HOUSE PUBLISHING CO.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

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  A Personal Note From Emilia Ferguson

  Dedication

  About The Author

  SOUL OF A HIGHLANDER

  PROLOGUE

  *

  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

  *

  A SURPRISE FOR YOU

  A BONUS NOVELLA

  THE HIGHLAND STRANGER

  Book Description

  PROLOGUE

  *

  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

  *

  EPILOGUE

  *

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  Also By Emilia Ferguson

  Acknowledgement

  If You Have Enjoyed This Book…

  Publisher’s Notes

  Copyright © 2017 & 2018 by EMILIA FERGUSON & MOUNTAINSKY HOUSE PUBLISHING CO.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real or dead people, places, or events are not intentional and are the result of coincidence. The characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author/publisher. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Cover designed by Ms Melody Simmons. Author has the copyrights to this cover.

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  A PERSONAL NOTE

  FROM EMILIA FERGUSON

  To My Dearest Lovely Readers,

  There is something picturesque and dramatic about the Scottish Highlands. Not only the landscape, which is mysterious, with its own special wildness and drama. It is the people themselves.

  Scottish people are the original untamed spirits: proud, wild, forthright, in touch with their inner selves. The Medieval period in Scotland is a fascinating one for contrasts: half the country was steeped in Medieval culture - knights, ladies, housecarls and maids - and the other half was a maelstrom of wild clans people; fighting, living and loving straight from the heart.

  If the two halves - the wild and the courtly - meet up, what will happen? And how will these proud women and untamed men react when brought together by social expectations, requirements and ambitions?

  Read on to find out the answers!

  Thank you very much for your strong support to my writing journey!

  With Hugs, Kisses and Love…

  DEDICATION

  Men always want to be a woman's first love - women like to be man's last romance.

  Oscar Wilde

  This Story Is Specially Dedicated To You, My Dearest Reader!

  It is with gratefulness and gratitude that I am writing to you this personal dedication.

  Thank you once again for giving me this opportunity to share with you my creative side.

  I hope you will enjoy reading this story as much I have enjoyed writing it!

  It is with such great support from you that we authors continue to write, presenting you with great stories.

  Have you checked out my other western historical romance books series?

  Click the link below to get started

  *** AMAZON USA ***

  Do you like what you have read?

  I want to hear from you!

  Please do get in touch with me:

  facebook.com/EmiliaFergusonBooks

  [email protected]

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Emilia Ferguson is the pen name of an author who writes historical romance with her husband. Her hometown is California, but currently she is living in hot tropical Singapore where she enjoys hot summer the whole year round.

  When she is not writing her Medieval Historical Scottish Romance pieces, she enjoys taking long walks with her husband and kids at the nearby beaches.

  It was these long walks where she got inspirations and ideas for her stories. She credits her wonderfully supportive husband John, her great cover designer Ms Melody Simmons and her advance review reviewers for helping her to fine-tune her writing skills and allowing her creativity to explode.

  SOUL OF A HIGHLANDER

  A MEDIEVAL SCOTTISH ROMANCE STORY

  by

  EMILIA FERGUSON

  and

  MountainSky House Publishing Co.

  PROLOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  The words floated past Francis' ears, making him instantly alert. He understood both French and Gaelic. However, Gaelic excited him. It sounded magical and made him wonder why his parents had left their Scottish homeland. He ran a hand down his long, lean face and went to join the others. />
  “Maman?” he asked.

  “Oui?” Lady Leona, countess of Annecy, raised a pale brow.

  “Maman? Pourquoi restons-nous ici? Pourquoi ne retournons-nous pas avec Oncle Brodgar?” Why stay here? Why not return with Uncle Brodgar? It was a question that had plagued him all his childhood. At nineteen, it still did. No more so than now.

  Uncle Brodgar excited his imagination. Big-shouldered, loud and funny, Uncle Brodgar was fascinating. He also spoke Gaelic. He was visiting from Scotland. Francis had been begging his parents for as long as he could remember if he could voyage to their homeland. It seemed all the more pertinent now, when he was a year or two shy of starting his own search for a wife.

  “Porquoi?” he asked again, softly. Why?

  His mother gave her answer. “Parce que nous possédons ces terres maintenant.” We own these lands now.

  “Mais comment?” Francis wanted to know.

  “C'est une longue histoire.”

  Francis sighed. What did it matter, that it was a long story? He was quick and deft at his lessons, almost as appreciated there as he was on the practice ground, where Sir Anselm taught him sword skills. She should tell him!

  Francis glanced up at his mother again, about to tell her something along those lines. She was already talking, making some important point to Uncle Brodgar and his moment passed.

  “You have done well to extend those borders, Brodgar,” she said, raising a thin brow at the chieftain.

  Brodgar chuckled. “Aye. As you can imagine, it took a fight. Old McAverly drives a hard bargain.”Uncle Brodgar looked like what he was, Francis thought, a chieftain from Scotland. He wore a tartan cloak in the green his mother said was the green of Dunkeld, her own family. That part of the description made no sense to Francis. He never had been to Scotland, and his mother's silence on the topic only added to his curiosity.

  He knew a little of the family story. His mother was the granddaughter of the Count of Annecy. She and his father, Conn McNeil, had come to be the rulers here. Francis' father, Conn, looked little like the French nobles Francis had seen before.

  The fact was a source of concern. Of all the youths his age – Gaston, Louis, Mathieu – Francis was the only one who looked like him. The only lean, red-haired, green-eyed youth at any gathering or joust in the estate courtyard. The girls noticed too.

  His mind wandered to Millicent, a lady his father had suggested as a bride for him. With dark curls and big eyelids like his mother's, Lady Millicent was beautiful, poised and French. She stirred the young man's blood with her curvy figure and her red lips, but she was not as moved by him as he was by her. He knew she whispered disparagingly about him to her maid. Like the other youths, she called him “Redcap”.

  Uncle Brodgar has the same sort of hair as Father. I reckon I look like him. Why can't we go back to Scotland?

  It was useless asking his mother.

  Now, Francis listened to a language he barely understood washing round his ears like the river against its banks – sweet, whispering, beguiling. He liked the sounds in it. He had to go back. The thought of finding a wife there appealed also. He imagined a woman with his mother's delicate, fair-haired beauty.

  Francis made up his mind to ask his Father. His chance came later. His father was in his study, but the door was open and Francis cautiously approached his desk.

  “Father?”

  “Yes?” His father frowned. “What's the matter, son? Just let me finish reading this document...”

  Francis watched his father scroll down a long parchment. It always impressed Francis that his father could read. All the others had fathers who employed stewards to do that for them.

  “Very well,” he said after a few moments had passed. “All done. What's the matter, son?”

  Francis frowned nervously. “Papa?”

  “If you want to know if you and Mathieu can borrow Blade and Blaze tomorrow,” he said without looking up, “I'd say wait a day or two – they're still recovering after that last hunt.”

  Blade and Blaze were his father's hunting horses. That wasn't what he wanted to ask.

  “Papa? Would you and Mama let me go back with Uncle Brodgar? Back to Scotland, I mean?”

  His father frowned. “Why, son?”

  “Because, I want to go back. To see other people like me. It's important, Papa. And besides...” he trailed off, too shy to ask his father about the idea of finding a bride.

  His father closed his eyes a moment. “Son...I know it's hard. But there just isn't anyone like you. There aren't that many French Scotsmen around.” He paused. “I know it's hard. All I can promise you is that one day, you'll see this horrible burden as a great gift. I know it. Standing out is a good thing. It means you get noticed. Which is no bad thing when looking for a wife!” He chuckled.

  Francis grinned shyly. “Maybe...”

  “Exactly,” his father persisted. “Do any of the youths get as much attention as you when you joust?”

  “No, Papa.” he replied.

  His father laughed. “Well, there you are. You see? Maybe they're just jealous.”

  Francis shook his head mutely. Jealous? Of him?

  “Well, think about it,” his father said solemnly. “People only try and break what they fear. And they fear what they don't understand. You'll always be different, Francis. And people will always try to break that. Don't let them.”

  Francis sighed. He didn't really understand what his father said, but it made a comforting kind of sense.

  “Maybe I'll believe you,” he said solemnly.

  His father chuckled. “Good. I hope you do – I'd find it hard to stand up at court if I lied to my own son!”

  They both chuckled.

  “There,” his father said fondly. “So. You'll stay here and look for a wife, eh?”

  Francis rolled his eyes. “I'll try, Father.”

  “Good,” his father said. “You never know – you might be taking her to visit Scotland one day.”

  Francis nodded. He could hope.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A QUEST FOR A WIFE

  A QUEST FOR A WIFE

  The hall was filled with people. Francis stood at the edge of it, feeling slightly awkward. At twenty, he was tall and well-built, nevertheless, he felt out of place.

  I still wish I looked like everyone else.

  No more so than now. He would have to be socializing with young ladies.

  “Francis! Son!” Conn grinned at him. “Come! Meet Lady Ettie. You must remember her father, the baron of Castelles?”

  “I do,” Francis bowed to the lady. At that moment, her father and his estate were the last thing on his mind. The sweet, well-formed young lady with the bosom filling the low-necked gown she wore was everything. He stared at her.

  “Lord Francis. My, but you're tall.”

  Francis went red. “Th...Thank you, milady.”

  She smiled at him, her face a heart-shaped one, neat and pretty. Her mouth made a small “o” of surprise. She giggled.

  “You are funny,” she said.

  Francis blinked. He wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a compliment, but he hoped so.

  “Thank you, milady.”

  Lady Ettie rolled her eyes toward her companion, a shorter lady with dark curls and dark eyes. She smiled at Ettie.

  “Go on, Ettie!” she said. “Dance with him.”

  Ettie giggled and let Francis lead her toward the dance floor.

  Breathe deeply. Walk. Don't fall over your feet.

  Francis felt desperately awkward on the dance floor. He had grown to be taller than his companions, broader in the shoulder with pale auburn hair. His face was a long, fine-boned oval shape with his father's strong brow and jawline. With full lips like his mother, and wide, hawkish eyes, he had an undeniably handsome face. It just didn't look like anyone else. Which was still a problem.

  They don't tend to like me.

  He bowed to Ettie and let her lead him into the dance. It was a Pavane, slow an
d stately. He acquitted himself reasonably well, which surprised him. However, when Lady Ettie bowed, she disappeared back into the hall again, blushing and smiling, and looking for her companion.