Highland Hearts

by Hannah Howell

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Romance; Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander

Synopsis

Reprint Edition. From New York Times bestselling author Hannah Howell comes the thrilling tale of a beautiful noblewoman embroiled in treachery and treason in the Scottish highlands--and the royal knight who would give his very life to protect her. . . Contessa Tess Delgado suspects her Scottish uncle of supporting those who would overthrow King James II. But it is not until she frees Sir Revan Halyard from her guardian's dungeon that she realizes the extent of the plot--and the deadly lengths to which he'll go to silence her and claim her considerable inheritance. When Revan abducts Tess in the course of his escape, she becomes his wary ally as well as his captive. For though Tess is loath to trust him and resistant to the desire he stirs in her soul, she cannot deny the destiny they share. Now, as they race against the traitors who seek to destroy them and betray the throne, Tess and Revan will risk everything for love of king, country--and one another. . .. "Few authors portray the Scottish highlands as lovingly or colorfully as Hannah Howell." -- Publishers Weekly

Release date: August 6, 2013

Publisher: Zebra

Print pages: 352

Sample

Scotland, 1455

“Come to gloat, have ye?”

“I beg your pardon?” Tess asked, surprised. It took a moment for her to still the alarmed beating of her heart. The man’s deep rich voice had scared her half to death. She had passed through her uncle’s dungeons earlier and it had been empty. Cautiously, she edged closer to the cell, thrusting her candle forward to shed some light into the shadowy recesses of the prison.

She gasped. Chained spread-eagle to the wall was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Even his bruises, blood, and dirt did not dim his handsomeness. Then she frowned. There was something familiar about the blond giant there, glaring back at her.

“When did you get here?” she asked.

Revan frowned. The piquant little face pressed to the bars was not the face he had expected to see. Neither were the big dark eyes, wide with surprise. He wondered if Fergus Thurkettle was playing some kind of game. For the moment he would play along. “Oh, I just strolled by near to two hours ago.”

“And decided to nap amongst the iron chains, hmmm?”

“ ’Tis cleaner than that bed o’er there.”

Glancing at the rat-gnawed cot in the corner, she silently agreed. What was her uncle up to now? Uncle Fergus, she mused, carried his pretensions to being lord and master of all he surveyed a little too far. It was no longer just a slight eccentricity; it had become an obsession and it was chilling.

“Ye would not say so if ye kenned what was hanging there just last week,” she said lightly.

“Aye? Who was it?”

“Oh, some skinny man who hadna discovered the benefit of a wee bit of soap and water.”

“What happened to him?”

“There is a funny thing. I dinna ken.” She had some dark theories but decided to keep them to herself. “I saw him here, weeping like a bairn. From what little I could learn he hadna committed a crime. I decided I would let him out, but I had to get the keys. By the time I got back—he was gone.”

“So swiftly?”

“W-well, it wasna quite so swiftly. It took two days. I couldna just take the keys, for that would be noticed. So I talked to Iain, the blacksmith. He wasna easy to persuade, but I finally got him to make me a set. By the time I got the keys, the wee man was gone.”

“Where do ye think he went?”

“I dinna ken. Dinna ken why he was here or why he suddenly wasna here. And, now, just why are ye here?”

“Ah, it seems I tried to reach beyond my station.”

She noticed the bitterness tainting his fine voice, but she did not really understand what he was referring to. Her uncle, while an unreasonable man, had never locked someone up for that before. Then Tess slowly grasped the thread of an idea, one she did not like much at all.

“Oh, were ye sniffing round Brenda, then?”

“Sniffing round? I was courting her.” More or less, he mused but was not about to confess to this chit. Hand in hand with cuddling up to the voluptuous Brenda Thurkettle had been his spying.

“And that is why ye are hanging up in there?” There were a few times when she had contemplated similar punishments for the men who had courted Brenda.

“Aye.” He felt only a small twinge of guilt over that half-truth, then wondered why he even felt that. Some madman had chained him to a wall, and now some curious girl was watching him. There was little doubt in his mind that Thurkettle meant to murder him. He should feel no guilt at all over lying through his teeth if it got him out of this mess. Yet, something about those huge dark eyes made him feel guilty. He told himself not to be such a fool.

“Well, that is a sad and foolish reason to hang a man up like a gutted deer,” Tess said, deciding her uncle had finally lost what tenuous grip he might have had on sanity. “He shouldna shackle a man for having the poor taste and judgment to pursue a woman like Brenda,” she murmured, reaching into a pocket in her doublet to fiddle with her keys.

Revan almost laughed. Brenda Thurkettle was blue-eyed, auburn haired, and had a form to make any man alive ache with lust. No one would accuse a man of poor taste for pursuing a woman like that. Except, he mused with an inner chuckle, another woman. Or, he thought an instant later, someone who knew the person beneath the beauty. Revan began to wonder about the woman he was talking to.

“Are ye meaning to free me?”

“Well . . . are ye sure ’tis all ye did? Court the regal Brenda?”

“ ’Tis all and naught more. Did ye expect some heinous crime like robbery or murder or something?”

She shrugged, slowly tugging her keys out of her pocket. “It can grow rather tedious hereabouts.”

His gaze fixed upon the keys. “Ye live here?”

It did not really surprise her that he did not know her, but she was growing weary of being consistently unnoticed. “Aye, I am Tess, the niece. I have lived here nearly five years.” She stared at him, contemplating. “I remember you now. I saw ye strolling about with our Mistress Brenda, taking her for a wee ride upon those matched horses. Verra nice. Was that a new doublet?”

“Aye, it was. Well?” He gently shook the chains attached to his wrists and ankles.

“Dinna rush me, I am thinking.” She rubbed her chin with one hand. “Ye are the manservant to that fat laird, Angus MacLairn. Aye, that wouldna please Uncle. Howbeit, if ye owned MacLairn’s keep—”

“Are ye intending to let me out of here or not?”

“Oh, dinna fash yourself.” She set her candle down and unlocked the cell door. “Here now.” She brought her candle into the cell and set it down on a small wobbly table by the cot. “Ye werena caught in flagrante delicto with Her Highness Brenda or the like, were ye?” She was not sure she ought to free a man awaiting a forced wedding even if Brenda cast her favors to nearly every man for miles about.

“In what?”

“Ye ken what I mean—mucking about, tussling, rolling in the heather. I dinna care to set myself into the midst of that sort of trouble.”

“ ’Tis nothing like that, I swear it. Why would ye even think that?” He had the sinking feeling he had been thoroughly fooled by Brenda, had missed a perfect opportunity.

“Well, the thrice-cursed fool is certain to be caught soon. Ye canna do something as often as she does that and not get caught. Do ye want your legs freed first or your arms?”

“My legs,” he grumbled, then scowled as she knelt by his feet to unlock the shackles. “Ye are dressed like a lad.”

“My, ye do have a keen eye, Sir Halyard,” she murmured as she freed his legs, then stood up to unlock the shackles at his wrists. “Hell’s fire, wrong key.” She moved back to the light to clearly study them.

“Here, hold but a moment. How the devil did ye get in here? I just realized I didna hear ye come down the stairs. Ye were just there.”

“Well, there is a secret way out. Uncle had it made to allow the family to slip away if the need arose. Aha! Here is the key.” She returned to unlock the manacles at his wrists.

Once free, Revan slowly sat down, rubbing his wrists to start the blood flowing again. As he did he covertly studied his rescuer. She was a tiny little thing, and the somewhat ill-fitted doublet and hose accentuated her slenderness. At a glance he would guess her to be very young, but something about her husky voice told him that guess would be wrong.

“They hung my sword, hat, and cape over there upon the wall.”

Even as Tess went to fetch his things, she asked, “Ye always wear your sword when ye go courting?”

“I was planning to take Brenda riding. I thought I might need it.” He grabbed his boots from where they had been set by the damp stone wall and yanked them on.

She held his things out to him, watching as he slowly stood up. He was big: tall, broad-shouldered, and lean. The perfect male. Inwardly she sighed. He was every lass’s ideal lover but definitely a man only the Brendas of the world could hope to win. As she watched him buckle on his sword, fixing the leather belt around his slim hips, she wondered why Brenda had not defended him to her father. This one had to be the best of her crowd of admirers. By far.

She considered asking what he had done to get on the wrong side of her uncle, then she stopped in horror. Someone was coming. She heard a door creak open and saw a glowing light on the stairs that led to the dungeon. Someone was coming to see the prisoner she had just released. She turned to warn Revan only to be grabbed by him, his sinewy arm wrapped around her upper body. Since the cold steel of his dirk was pressed against her throat, she made no attempt to fight as he dragged her out of the cell.

“Where is the way out?” he hissed in her ear as they edged away from the approaching men.

“Keep backing up,” she whispered fiercely. “Ye will come to the wall. What looks to be a large rack of shelves is, in truth, a door.”

“How do I open it?”

“A loop of rope hangs down on the left side. Ye pull it open.” She tensed as much from the cold blade as from her uncle and his two closest men-at-arms, Thomas and Donald, as they reached the bottom of the stairs, turned, and saw them.

“God’s beard, what goes on here?” Fergus Thurkettle bellowed even as he drew his sword and pointed it at Revan.

“Ye best not try anything, Thurkettle,” Revan warned in an icy voice, “or I will cut your niece’s throat from ear to ear.”

“Your method of showing gratitude could use a wee bit of refinement,” Tess murmured, wondering how she could have so misjudged the man now dragging her toward her uncle’s private escape route.

“Curse you, Tess, how did the man get free?”

“Well, now, Uncle, ’tis a question worth pondering,” she managed to reply.

“Ye stupid bitch, ye set him free. Didna ye ken he is a murderer? He murdered Leith MacNeill.”

“Who?”

Revan cursed as he realized Thurkettle had not only planned his death but a way to blame him for a cold-blooded murder as well. “That wee man who didna like soap,” he hissed in Tess’s ear. “Ye will have to find another fool to blame that on, Thurkettle,” Revan said as he reached the door, “because this fool is leaving.” They were both pressed up against the wall. “Pull the door open,” he ordered Tess.

It was hard to move since his grip had all but pinned her arms to her sides. Grabbing the small loop of rope in her hand, she tugged several times before she opened the heavy door enough for them to slip into the small stairway behind it. She could see her uncle and his men edging after them. She grabbed the large iron handle on the back of the door. Without waiting for his order, she yanked it shut after she and Revan were inside. Then she shot the heavy bolt to lock it. A sudden thumping told her her uncle and his men took at least a brief chance at following them.

“Where does this come out?” Revan demanded as he hefted her up slightly so that her feet were off of the ground and made his way cautiously along the dark, slowly rising passage.

“In the stables. What looks to be a large rack for hanging bits and tools upon is a door. Ye willna be able to saddle your mount and ride out of here dragging me about like this.”

“Ye would be surprised.”

“They will be waiting for you.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“This is the last time I will do anyone a favor.”

“Shut your mouth.”

Since she could not think of a reply that could prevent him from using her as a shield, Tess decided to obey his curt order.

Revan cursed as he tried to hurry without losing his footing. He was the lowest of scoundrels. There were times, he mused, when being on the right side did not feel all that right. Just before Thurkettle had appeared, he had nearly talked himself out of taking the girl to pry information out of her. Thurkettle had turned that decision around. Although Revan hated hiding behind the girl, she was his only means of escape from Thurkettle’s keep.

When they finally reached the door he ordered her to unbolt it, then kicked it open. At first the sudden light blinded him. Squinting tightly, then slowly opening his eyes, he looked out. He smiled grimly when he saw Thurkettle waiting, five armed men now flanking him. He edged into the stable, moving away from the open door.

“Toss aside your weapons.” He smiled coldly when they hesitated. “Dinna push me, Thurkettle. I have naught to lose in this venture.” Slowly the men tossed aside their weapons. “Now, ye”—he nodded toward a lanky, gray-haired stable hand—“saddle my horse and dinna forget all my belongings—including my bow and shield.” He waited tensely as the man obeyed.

“Ye willna get away with this,” Thurkettle hissed.

“I’m not doing too badly thus far.”

“We will hunt ye down.”

“Will ye now? Dinna nip too close at my heels. I will have this fair niece of yours.”

“Ye canna hold the lass forever.”

“Long enough.” Seeing that his horse was ready, Revan signaled the man, with a jerk of his head, to return to his companions. “Now, get in there.” He nodded toward the tunnel he had just exited. Hissing curses, Thurkettle led his men inside. Revan kicked the door shut, then pushed Tess toward it. “Bolt it.”

Doing as he said, she told him, “If ye move swiftly, ye ought to be clear of the walls ere they can get out.”

“Not clear enough.” He grasped her by the arm and pushed her toward his horse. “Mount.”

“Ye are taking me with you?”

“Mount.”

She mounted. There had to be a dozen ways she could break free, but not one came to mind. He swung up in front of her, reaching back and grabbing her wrists firmly. He then quickly tied them so that she was bound to him. When he spurred his horse to a gallop, she hung on, praying the fool did not kill them by riding like some madman in the dark.

Charging out the door of his keep, Fergus Thurkettle saw his prisoner riding off. “Cut that bastard down,” he ordered his archers.

“But, sir,” protested Thomas, “we could kill your niece.”

Fergus cursed viciously, then abruptly halted. “What day is this?”

“What?” Thomas asked in total confusion.

“What day is this?”

“Tuesday, the fifteenth day of March.”

“Aye, so it is, and yesterday was her birthday, her eighteenth birthday,” Thurkettle murmured. Suddenly he was smiling.

“What are ye muttering about?”

Ignoring Thomas, Thurkettle stood watching the pair ride away as he hastily mulled his choices. Tess was eighteen. The fortune he had held in trust now belonged to her. If she died, he was the only heir. For five long years he had longed for that fortune. Now he began to see a way, a way to kill two birds with one stone.

“Go after him,” he ordered his men.

“But, sir,” Thomas asked, “what about Tess?”

“Dinna fret over her. Look, that craven dog kens too much about my business with the Black Douglases. Soon Tess will too. So that makes her dangerous, no? Now—ride.”

Once his men had raced off, Thurkettle strolled back into his keep, whistling a merry tune. He went inside, poured himself a tankard of fine French wine from a richly carved silver jug, then silently toasted himself.

“I suppose there is little chance of Sir Revan being brought back alive,” a voice said behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder, Thurkettle frowned at his daughter as she moved to sit at the table. “Very little.”

“Ah, what a shame.” Brenda studied the jeweled rings on her fingers with an air of boredom.

“Nay, a necessity. I canna risk allowing him to reach the king and tell what he has learned just so ye can get your claws into him. Ye should have played your virtuous game a little less ardently.”

“I did that for you, so ye could find out if your suspicions were correct. I have seen little sign of gratitude.”

“Ye willna see any. Ye were protecting yourself as well. If the man is dragged back here and is still breathing, I will let ye have him for a few hours ere I kill him.”

“How kind.” Brenda frowned. “Ye had best be very careful of how ye handle this in front of Tess. She isna quite as dumb as she looks.”

“There is no need to fret over Tess.” Thurkettle curled his thin, bloodless lips into a faint smile.

“Nay? She is the one who set the man free, is she not?”

“Aye, the stupid bitch. She also showed him how to escape. He now uses her to try and protect himself. Well, he will soon discover that willna work.”

Very slowly, Brenda’s eyes widened as she realized what her father was saying. “Ye mean to murder Tess.”

Scowling at his daughter, Thurkettle snapped, “Aye, what of it? Dinna tell me ye will miss her.”

“Most of the time I barely notice her. ’Tis not me ye will have to explain it to but that horde of kinsmen Aunt was mad enough to wed into.”

Fergus Thurkettle shuddered as he recalled his sister’s marriage. “I willna have to explain a thing. ’Twill be a sad case of kidnapping and murder.”

“Which we swiftly avenged.”

“Exactly.”

“Isna killing her a wee bit harsh? ’Tis true, she released Revan but—”

“Ye can think beyond what gown to wear, can ye not? She has to ken something about our activities. That bastard will soon get it out of her. Together they can hang us all. Aye, and hanging would be the most merciful death we could pray for.”

“Oh—aye, I suppose she would have had to have noticed something in the five years she has been here.”

“Just so. There is more to it than that, however. She was eighteen yesterday. Her fortune and land are now all hers.”

“Fortune? Land? Tess has money?”

“Aye, Tess has money. Half the gowns ye wear were bought with her money. I had the expense of rearing her and all,” he murmured. “I was allowed to extract funds for all that. For five long years I have tried to think of a way to get that money yet not bring the Comyns or Delgados clamoring at my gates. I have it now. She gave it to me herself.”

“Are ye saying ye get all that is hers if she dies?”

“Every last ha’penny. Aye, and there is a cursed large pile of them.”

“Just how big a purse? Are ye sure ’tis worth the risk?”

“Does thirty thousand gold riders appeal to you as worth a wee gamble?” He nodded when she simply gaped at him. “There is also a fine, rich keep south of Edinburgh, as well as some land in Spain. The girl is wealthy. Very, very wealthy.”

“I canna believe it. Where would that . . . that mincing portrait painter, Delgado, get that kind of money? Or the Comyns?”

“Most of it comes from neither. ’Twas my sister’s. Our father wished to be sure she had something to live on when she came to her senses and left that mongrel she married. It grew over the years.”

“So neither the Comyns nor the Delgados can lay claim to it?”

“Nay. ’Twas Eileen’s, thus Tess’s.”

“Are ye sure, ’tis a perfect plan? Very, very sure? Near half those Delgados and Comyns are in the military or the service of the king. Aye, and the law or the church. We certainly dinna wish them to look too closely.”

“She was kidnapped and murdered. What can there be to question?”

Brenda still frowned. “I will hold my celebrating until ye have the money in your hands and none of that mongrel, lowborn family of hers clamoring at your gates.”

She watched her father shrug, and she silently called him a fool. The man was celebrating before the deed was done, and Brenda considered that the height of folly. Sir Revan Halyard was a clever man, and little Tess was not without some wit. The pair of them could prove far more difficult to catch than her father anticipated. It might be a good time to supplement her private funds, she mused. If her father stumbled and fell, she did not intend to join him.

“Ye worry too much, Brenda.”

“Aye? I think ye shouldna be quite so free of concern. I will keep mine, thank ye very much, until I see Sir Revan Halyard and Tess buried.”

“Then ye had best see to the airing of your mourning gown, dearling, for ye will soon be standing over their graves.”

Tess groaned as Revan pulled her out of the saddle. She did not even want to think about how long she had been on the back of that horse. For hours they had ridden in a tortuous, circuitous route in order to shake off their pursuers. There did not seem to be a part of her that did not ache.

Revan roughly pulled her toward him and neatly tied her hands to the pommel of his saddle. She cursed him viciously under her breath. He was cruel and inhumane. The rope was so short she had to stand on tiptoe, pressed close to the sweaty horse. At the very first opportunity she was going to stick her dirk into the man. A stomach wound, agonizing, slow to heal but not fatal, she mused with a viciousness born of her discomfort and fear.

“Your language could do with some refinement,” Revan murmured as he moved to push aside a large rock from the low banking.

“Aye? Well, your ideas on how to treat someone who helped you could use some improvement.”

“Sorry, lass, but if I hadna used you to get out of there, I would have been dead ere I had gone two feet.”

“Well, then, I am even more sorry I wandered by.” She watched him drag some brush aside. “Curse ye to hell and back, what are ye doing?”

“Readying a place to hide.”

“Oh, ye mean we are nay going to gallop through the moonless night like some cloaked reiver any longer? I am devastated.”

“My, ye are a bitter-tongued wee thing.” He glanced up at the quarter moon, then at her. “And ’tis not a moonless night. There is enough light to see what I was doing.”

“Ah”—she glanced up at the sky—“of course. That moon. Its radiance was such that I was blinded to its presence.”

It was certainly hard for her to see what he was doing, she thought crossly. The horse badly obscured her view. But she could hear Revan shifting a great deal of rock and bracken. Every time she tried to nudge the horse a little in an attempt to move the beast around, the animal nudged her right back. His horse was as ill-begotten as he was, she thought angrily.

“Come along, then,” Revan murmured as he untied her from the horse, and rebound her wrists.

“Where?” She tried to resist his tug on her bound wrists. It looked as if he was dragging her and his stubborn horse straight toward the wall of rock that banked the hills. Then she espied the fault in the shadows, the hint that the wall was not as flat as she had thought. When he pushed her in front of him, she saw the opening.

“A cave,” she drawled, as she stumbled inside. “How suitable.”

Urging his horse into the roomy cave, Revan ignored her remarks. He grabbed the end of the rope that was around her wrists and looped it back around the pommel of his saddle. While he readied a campsite for them, he did not want to risk her fleeing. He could not risk her drawing Thurkettle’s men to his hiding place. After what they had been through, he doubted she would want to see those men, either, although he dared not trust in that.

Once he had prepared the campsite, he untied her again, instructing her to sit in the back of the cave. Keeping a close eye on her, he then quickly covered the opening as best he could from the inside.

Tess walked over to the campsite and wearily sat down on the bedding he had spread out. She knew she ought to try to flee into the waning night, but at the moment she was simply too tired, and he was too on-guard. Also, she was not fond of being out alone in the dark.

She had some difficulty believing the tangle she had gotten herself involved in. Much of it made no sense. She glared at Revan as he crouched by the fire and began to make some porridge.

“Ye murdered someone, didna ye?” Even as she accused him, she could not believe him guilty of such a crime.

“Nay. I didna even draw my sword ere I was seized by Thurkettle.”

“Then ye stole something.”

“Nay. Not a farthing.”

“Now, see here, ye had to have done something more than gawk at Brenda—”

“I did not gawk.”

She ignored his remark. “My uncle isna one to act like this for something as trivial or common as courting. Curse it, if he tried to kill every man who trotted after his daughter, there would be corpses piled knee-high all over Scotland.”

“Do I detect a note of jealousy?”

“Nay, ye do not. Are ye prepared to answer my questions or not?”

“I have answered them.” He looked at her, studying her closely. “Now ye can answer a few questions of mine.”

“Oh, I can, can I?”

“Are ye truly Thurkettle’s niece? I dinna see much of a resemblance.” He snatched the battered hat she wore off of her head, then half-wished he had let it be. That action had loosened what few hairpins she had used to keep her hair up. A thick glossy mass of wavy, raven-colored hair tumbled past her shoulders almost to her waist. The way the light of the fire touched it only increased its beauty. He now understood how the floppy, wide-crowned hat had stayed on her head during their wild ride. The thick hair filling the crown had held it in place.

“If ye kenned the family well, ye would see one or two similar traits,” she said scornfully. “Will ye free my hands now?” She held her bound wrists out toward him.

He gently pushed them back into her lap. “I will think about it. What is your name—Tess Thurkettle?”

“Contessa Comyn Delgado.” She found some satisfaction—but no surprise—at his stunned look. Her full name surprised everyone.

“Ye are Spanish?” he mumbled when he collected himself. “I didna think Thurkettle had such a connection.”

“He doesna. My father did. Thurkettle’s my mother’s brother. When my parents died, I was sent to live with him.” She inwardly grimaced, thinking of how she had gone from the wrenching tragedy of losing her parents to the continuous tragedy of living with uncaring relatives. “My father’s mother was a Scot, a Comyn, and his father was Spanish. My father wasna considered good enough for a Thurkettle, as he was only a painter at the royal court.”

Revan had little doubt that Tess spoke the truth. Thurkettle was well known for his pretensions. He had discovered some tenuous connection to Robert the Bruce and often boasted about the fragile bond. If the senior Thurkettle had held even half the self-importance the younger did, it must have required a lot of courage for Tess’s mother to wed Delgado. Life could not have been too pleasant for Tess, either, since she was a walking reminder of her mother’s choice of husband. The Thurkettles would certainly have had other more profitable arrangements in mind.

“But,” he spoke his thoughts aloud, “that doesna seem cause enough to kill you.”

“Kill me?” she said, astonished. “No one was trying to kill me. They were after you.”

“And you. They were firing arrows thick and fast, not to miss.”

She did not want to talk about it. Until now she had managed to push aside her own suspicions. Although Revan had taken her as a shield, not one of her uncle’s men had taken any care not to hurt her. Deny it as she would, the truth in all its chilling ugliness refused to go away. They had been aiming for her with as much intensity as they had been aiming for Revan. It was the. . .