The Warrior

Book 3: The Return of the Highlanders

by Margaret Mallory

Genres: General Fiction; Historical Fiction; Romance

Synopsis

From the Isle of Skye to the battlefields of France, Duncan MacDonald has never escaped the memory of the true love he left behind. Deemed unworthy of a chieftain's daughter, Duncan abandoned the lovely Moira to prove his worth in battle. Now, when called upon to rescue her from a rival clan, one thing is certain: Moira's pull on his heart is stronger than ever.



Bartered away in marriage to a violent man, Moira will do anything to ensure she and her son survive. When a rugged warrior arrives to save her, the desperate beauty thinks her prayers have been answered-until she realizes it's Duncan. The man who once broke her heart is now her only hope. Moira vows never again to give herself-or reveal her secrets-to the fierce warrior, but as they race across the sea, danger and desire draw them ever closer.

Release date: October 30, 2012

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 400

Sample

 

“Sizzling and captivating…Mallory weaves a fine yarn with plenty of spice and thrills.”

—Publishers Weekly

“4½ stars! Mallory’s portrait of 16th-century Scotland and the lively adventures she creates for her characters certainly engage readers’ emotions. The sizzling sexual tension between the hero and heroine will leave readers breathless.”

—RT Book Reviews

“The Sinner is perfect! Alex and Glynis are sexy, stubborn and simply divine together. The Sinner should not be missed!”

—JoyfullyReviewed.com

“A wonderful novel led by two powerful personalities…The Sinner is an exciting, turbulent read from beginning to end. I will be waiting impatiently for the next installment of this story.”

—FreshFiction.com

“Captivating…Alex is a delicious male lead that would send any woman’s heart aflutter…The chemistry and the fire that this couple had was explosive and just seemed to leap off the page…This book needs to be savored with a nice glass of wine…I am anxiously awaiting Duncan’s story.”

—NightOwlRomance.com

“4½ stars! Top Pick! Mallory imbues history with a life of its own, creating a deeply moving story. Her characters are vibrantly alive and full of emotional depth, each with their own realistic flaws. Her sensuous and highly passionate tale grabs the reader and doesn’t let go.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Masterfully written…Mallory has created a series that every romance reader must read. The Guardian is truly a sizzling romance with high-impact adventure that captures the Scotland readers long for. The characters created by Mallory have found places in my heart, and I am impatiently awaiting the next of this spectacular series!”

—FreshFiction.com

“A must-read for all historical and highlander fans…Ms. Mallory weaves a gripping story of heartbreak, intrigue, and trust…This one is a keeper. I’m looking forward to the next installment.”

—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com

“The story line and writing were fantastic…The love scenes were very hot, and the historical elements…added a ton of flavor to the story.”

—Romanceaholic.com

“An amazing introduction to what is fated to become a dangerously addictive series. With characters capable of breaching the most impenetrable of readers’ defenses, riveting story lines (and even more intriguing subplots), quick, witty dialogue, as well as wild sexual tension—the only thing readers will crave, is more.”

—RomanceJunkiesReviews.com

 “Five stars! I fell in love with this novel!…The characters in this story really touched me…This is a wonderful start of a series and I can’t wait to read the adventures of the MacDonald brothers.”

—NightOwlRomance.com

 

“Top Pick! As in the previous book in her All the King’s Men series, Mallory brings history to life, creating dramatic and gut-wrenching stories. Her characters are incredibly alive and readers will feel and believe their sensual and passionate adventures. Mallory raises the genre to new levels.”

—RT Book Reviews

“I really enjoyed this story…Very intense…Fans of medieval historicals will especially love this one.”

—CoffeeTimeRomance.com

“An amazing story…a series that readers won’t want to miss…Filled with hot romance as well as adventure with a fascinating historical background.”

—RomRevToday.com

 

“4 Stars! A riveting story…Such depth and sensuality are a rare treat.”

—RT Book Reviews

 “Fascinating…An excellent historical romance. Ms. Mallory gives us amazingly vivid details of the characters, romance, and intrigue of England. You’re not just reading a novel, you are stepping into the story and feeling all the emotions of each character…Knight of Pleasure is amazing and I highly recommend it.”

—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com

“An absolute delight…captivating.”

—FreshFiction.com

“Thrilling, romantic, and just plain good reading…An enjoyable, historically accurate, and very well written novel.”

—RomRevToday.com  

“An impressive debut…Margaret Mallory is a star in the making.”

—Mary Balogh, New York Times bestselling author of At Last Comes Love

“5 Stars! Amazing…The fifteenth century came alive…​Knight of Desire is the first in the All the King’s Men series and what a way to start it off.”

—CoffeeTimeRomance.com

“A fast-paced tale of romance and intrigue that will sweep you along and have you rooting for William and his fair Catherine to fight their way to love at last.”

—Candace Camp, New York Times bestselling author of The Courtship Dance

 “4 Stars! Mallory’s debut is impressive. She breathes life into major historical characters…in a dramatic romance.”

—RT Book Reviews

Prologue

ISLE OF SKYE, SCOTLAND1508

Duncan MacDonald could defeat any warrior in the castle—and yet, he was powerless against his chieftain’s seventeen-year-old daughter.

“As soon as my father leaves the hall,” Moira whispered, leaning close enough to make him light-headed, “I’ll meet ye outside by the ash tree.”

Duncan knew he should refuse her, but he may as well try to stop his heart from beating.

“I’ve told ye not to speak to me here,” he said, glancing about the long room filled with their clansmen and the chieftain’s guests from Ireland. “Someone might notice.”

When Moira turned to look straight at him with her midnight-blue eyes, Duncan felt as if a fist slammed into his chest. That had happened the first time she looked at him—really looked at him—and every time since.

“Why would anyone take notice if I speak with my brother Connor’s best friend?” she asked.

Perhaps because she had ignored him the first seventeen years of her life? It was still a mystery to him how that had changed.

“Go now—Ragnall is watching us,” he said when he felt her older brother’s eyes on him. Unlike Moira and Connor, Ragnall had their father’s fair hair, bull-like build, and short temper. He was also the only warrior in the clan Duncan was not certain he could defeat at arms.

“I won’t go until ye say you’ll meet me later.” Moira folded her arms, but amusement quirked up the corners of her full lips, reminding Duncan that this was a game to her.

Yet if the chieftain learned that Duncan was sneaking off with his only daughter, he would murder him on the spot. Duncan turned and left the hall without bothering to answer her; Moira knew he would be there.

As he waited for her in the dark, he listened to the soft lap of the sea on the shore. There was no mist on the Misty Isle of Skye tonight, and Dunscaith Castle was beautiful, ablaze with torchlight against the clear night sky. He had grown up in the castle and seen this sight a thousand times, but Duncan was a young man who took nothing for granted.

His mother had served as nursemaid to the chieftain’s children, and he and Connor had been best friends since the cradle. From the time they could lift wooden swords, the two of them and Connor’s cousins, Alex and Ian, had trained in the art of war. When they weren’t practicing with their weapons, they were off looking for adventure—or trouble—and they usually found it.

Moira had always been apart, a coddled princess dressed in finery. Duncan had little to do with the lovely, wee creature whose laughter often filled the castle.

Duncan heard the rustle of silk skirts and turned to see Moira running toward him. Even in the dark and covered head-to-toe in a cloak, he could pick her out of a thousand women. Though she could not possibly see what was in her path, Moira ran headlong, expecting no impediment. No stone tripped her, for even the faeries favored this lass.

When Moira threw her arms around his neck, Duncan closed his eyes and lost himself in her womanly softness. He breathed in the scent of her hair, and it was like lying in a field of wildflowers.

“It’s been two whole days,” she said. “I missed ye so much.”

Duncan was amazed at how unguarded Moira was. The lass said whatever came into her head, with no caution, no fear of rejection. But then, who would refuse her?

The chieftain had sent Duncan to attend university in the Lowlands with Connor and Connor’s cousins, and he’d learned about Helen of Troy there. Moira had a face like that—the kind that could start a clan war. And worse for his jealous heart, she had lush curves and an innate sensuality that made every man want her.

The other men only lusted after her for her beauty. But for Duncan, Moira was the bright spark in his world.

Moira pulled him down into a deep kiss that sent him reeling. Before he knew it, his hands were roaming over the feminine dips and swells of her body, and she was moaning into his mouth. They were in danger of dropping to the grass at their feet, where anyone could happen upon them, so he broke the kiss. One of them had to keep their head—and it wouldn’t be Moira.

“Not here,” he said, though he knew damned well what they would do if they went to the cave. Anticipation caused every fiber of his being to throb with need.

For the first weeks, they had found ways to please each other without committing the last, irrevocable sin—the one that could cost Duncan his life if his chieftain knew of it. He felt guilty for taking what rightfully belonged to Moira’s future husband. But it was a miracle that he’d held out against her as long as he had.

At least he was confident that Moira would not suffer for what they had done. She was a clever lass—she would not be the first to spill a vial of sheep’s blood on her wedding sheet. And Moira was not one to be troubled by guilt.

Once they were inside the cave, they spread the blanket they kept there, and Duncan pulled her onto his lap.

“The Irish chieftain’s son is rather amusing,” Moira said, poking her finger in his side.

Moira’s father had not taken another wife after Connor and Moira’s mother died. So when they had guests, Moira sat on one side of her father, charming them, while her older brother Ragnall sat on his other side, frightening them.

“The man was looking down the front of your gown all through supper.” And Duncan thought Moira let him. “I wanted to crush his head between my hands.”

All his life, he’d minded his temper, both because he was bigger than other lads and because his position was precarious. He hated the way Moira made him lose control.

“That’s sweet.” She laughed and kissed his cheek. “I was trying to make ye jealous.”

“Why would ye do that?”

“To make certain ye would meet me, because we need to talk.” Her voice was serious now. “Duncan, I want us to marry.”

Duncan closed his eyes and, for one brief moment, let himself pretend it was possible. He imagined what it would be like to be the man so blessed as to sleep with this lass in his arms each night and to wake up each morning to her sunny smile.

“It will never happen,” he said.

“Of course it will.”

Moira was accustomed to having her way. Her father, who had no other weakness, had spoiled her, but he would not give in to her on such an important matter.

“Your father will never permit his only daughter to wed the nursemaid’s bastard son,” he said. “He’ll use your marriage to make an alliance for the clan.”

Duncan pulled out his flask of whiskey and took a long drink. With Moira talking such nonsense, he needed it.

“My father always lets me have what I want in the end. And what I want,” she said, her breath warm in his ear as she ran her hand down his stomach, “is you, Duncan Ruadh MacDonald.”

With all his blood rushing to his cock, he couldn’t think. He pulled her into his arms, and they fell across the blanket, their legs tangled.

“I’m desperate for ye,” she said between frantic kisses.

He still found it hard to believe Moira wanted him—but when she put her hand on his cock, he did believe it. For however long she wanted him, he was hers.

 

* * *

Duncan ran his fingers through Moira’s hair as she lay with her head on his chest. He fixed every moment of their time together in his memory to retrieve later.

“I love ye so much,” she said.

An unfamiliar sensation of pure joy bubbled up inside Duncan.

“Tell me ye love me,” she said.

“Ye know I do,” he said, though it made no difference as to what would happen. “I’ll never stop.”

His feelings didn’t come and go like Moira’s. One week, she loved her brown horse, the next week the spotted one, and the week after that she didn’t like to ride at all. She had always been like that. They were opposites in so many ways.

Duncan forced himself to sit up so he could see the sky outside the cave.

“Ach, it’s near dawn,” he said and cursed himself. “I must get ye back to the castle quickly.”

“I will convince my father,” Moira said as they dressed. “He’s no fool. He can see that one day you’ll be a famed warrior known throughout the Western Isles.”

“If ye tell your father about us,” he said, cupping her face in his hands, “that will be the end of this.”

Moira could not be as naïve about it as she pretended.

“He would let us wed if I carried your child,” she said in a small voice.

Duncan’s heart stopped in his chest. “Tell me ye are taking the potion to avoid conceiving?”

“Aye,” she said, sounding annoyed. “And I’ve had my courses.”

He brushed his thumb over her cheek. It was strange, but he would love to have a child with her—a wee lass with Moira’s laughing eyes. He had no business having thoughts like that. It would be years before he could support a wife and child, and he’d never be able to provide for a woman accustomed to fine clothes and servants.

The scare she gave him made him resolve, yet again, to end it. Moira could hide the loss of her virginity, but a child was another matter.

“If my father won’t agree, we can run away,” she said.

“He’d send half a dozen war galleys after us,” Duncan said as he fastened her cloak for her. “Even if we escaped—which we wouldn’t—ye would never be happy estranged from our clan and living in a humble cottage. I love ye too much to do that to ye.”

“Don’t doubt me,” Moira said, gripping the front of his shirt. “I’d live anywhere with ye.”

She believed it only because she’d never lived with hardship. Duncan had known from the start that he could never keep her. Moira was like a colorful butterfly, landing on his hand for a breathless moment.

The sky was growing light when they reached the kitchen entrance behind the keep.

“I love ye,” Moira said. “And I promise ye, one way or another, I will marry ye.”

Duncan was a lucky man to have her love, even for a little while. He pulled her into one last mindless kiss and wondered how he would last until the next time.

He lived on the precipice of disaster, never knowing which would befall him first—getting caught or having her end it. And yet, he had never felt happier in his life. He had to stop himself from whistling as he crossed the castle yard to his mother’s cottage.

Damn, there was candlelight in the window. Duncan was a grown man of nearly twenty and didn’t have to answer to his mother. Still, he wished she were not awake to see him come in with the rising sun. She would ask questions, and he didn’t like to lie to her.

Duncan opened the door—and his stomach dropped like a stone to his feet.

His chieftain and Ragnall sat on either side of his mother’s table with their long, claymore swords resting, unsheathed, across their thighs. Rage rolled off them. With their golden hair and fierce golden eyes, they looked like a pair of lions.

Duncan hoped they would not kill him in front of his mother and sister. Though he did not take his eyes off the two warriors dwarfing the tiny cottage, he was aware of his mother hunched on the floor in the corner, weeping. His eleven-year-old sister stood with her hand on their mother’s shoulder.

“The old seer foretold that ye would save my son Connor’s life one day.” The chieftain’s voice held enough menace to fell birds from the sky. “That is the only reason I did not kill ye the moment ye walked through that door.”

Duncan suspected he would be flogged within an inch of his life instead. But a beating, however bad, meant nothing. He was strong; he would survive it. What weighed down his shoulders was the realization that he would never again hold Moira in his arms.

His chieftain was speaking again, but Duncan found it hard to listen with the well of grief rising in his chest.

“I suspect Connor and my nephews knew ye were violating my daughter!”

When the chieftain started to rise from his chair, Ragnall put his hand on his father’s arm.

“We are taking Knock Castle from the MacKinnons today, so fetch your sword and shield,” Ragnall said. “As soon as the battle is over, you, Alex, and Ian will sail with Connor for France. Ye can hone your skills there, fighting the English.”

“By the time ye return,” the chieftain said, his eyes narrow slits of hate, “Moira will be far from Skye, living with her husband and children.”

Duncan had known from the start that he would lose Moira. And yet, he felt the loss as keenly as if he’d been the expectant bridegroom whose bride is torn from his arms on his wedding night.

The bright spark was gone from his life forever.

Chapter 1

THE GLENS, IRELANDJANUARY 1516

The Isle of Skye is there.” Moira stood at the edge of the sea holding her son’s hand and pointed at the empty horizon to the north. “That is our true home. Never forget that we are MacDonalds of Sleat.”

Her son Ragnall, whom she named for her older brother, gave her a grave nod. After a moment, he asked, “If they are our clan, why don’t they come for us?”

Why indeed. She hated this feeling of being trapped. If she ever escaped from her husband, she would never let it happen again. Never. All she wanted in this life was to be safe with her son at Dunscaith Castle. Once, she had wanted more. Nay, she had expected it as her due.

Unbidden and unwanted, the image of Duncan MacDonald, the man whose desertion had led to all this misery, filled her head. No one had seen a young warrior of such promise since her brother Ragnall, who was ten years older. Moira remembered Duncan’s copper hair glinting in the sunlight, the hard lines of his face that softened when he looked at her, the warrior’s body that had taught her pleasure.

She would be better off without these memories. Ach, she had been a foolish and trusting lass at seventeen. She had read devotion in Duncan’s silences, mistaken his lust for love, and counted on his strength to fight for her. Alas, she had been wrong in every regard.

“Damn ye, Duncan Ruadh Mòr!” Moira said under her breath as she stared out at the empty sea. “How could ye leave me?”

Duncan had brought her worse luck than a broken looking glass. Seven years of misery, with no end in sight.

Moira recalled the day of her wedding. Everyone was gathered in the hall waiting for the bride while she stood on the castle wall still watching for a sail in the distance. Up until the last moment, when her father came himself to fetch her, she was hoping and praying Duncan would return in time to save her. Even then, she would have sneaked down to the beach and—after giving him a tongue-lashing he would not soon forget—she would have climbed into his boat and gone anywhere with him.

She had been so certain he would come back for her. But it was five years before Duncan MacDonald returned to Skye. She would never forgive him.

Moira pushed away the old pain and watched Ragnall throwing a stick for his dog, Sàr, a giant wolfhound twice Ragnall’s weight and the size of a small pony. For a moment her son looked as if he were a carefree lad, and she felt guilty that he could not be. His sweet young face had an old man’s eyes.

Ragnall raised his arm to throw the stick again but stopped and stared up at the top of the bluff. “Father is here.”

Moira flinched as she always did when she heard Ragnall call that foul man his father. When she turned and saw Sean’s bearlike shape above them, she fought back the wave of nausea that rose in her throat. Even from this distance, she sensed trouble. She did not want Ragnall here.

“Ye know how he hates Sàr. Take him away,” she said. When Ragnall hesitated and gave her a worried look, she pushed him. “Quickly now!”

“Come,” Ragnall called, and Sàr loped beside him down the beach.

Moira forced her body to relax as Sean came down the cliff path toward her. Showing fear only emboldened him. Unfortunately, Sean could smell fear on you like the wild beast he was. When Sean reached her, he stood too close, towering over her with his hands on his hips and his legs apart in a wide stance. She smiled up at him.

“My dear wife,” Sean said, his eyes as cold as the icy wind coming off the winter sea, “have ye something to tell me?”

Fear closed her throat, so she brightened her smile until she could speak. “Just that I’m pleased ye could come out to take a stroll with me. I know what a busy man ye are.”

The smell of whiskey wafted off him, heightening her alarm. It was early in the day for strong drink, even for Sean.

“I saw the way my brother Colla was looking at ye in the hall at breakfast,” Sean said.

Not this again. There was a time when Sean liked that men looked at her, and even provoked it by making lewd remarks about her. Now it only made him angry.

Sean had always been difficult, but he had grown worse since the deaths of her father and brother Ragnall at the Battle of Flodden. As a result of their deaths, the fortunes of her clan fell, and with them, her own. Sean respected power, and she had lost hers.

Moira had heard rumors that her clan was slowly recovering its strength under her brother Connor. Yet Connor had not visited her once to demonstrate to Sean that he placed a high value on her welfare. She would have begged her brother to come if Sean had allowed her to send a message.

“I can’t help it if men look at me,” she said in what she hoped was a light voice.

Sean grabbed her arm in an iron grip, sending apprehension thrumming through her.

“Ye encourage them,” he said. “I see how ye flaunt yourself at them.”

“I don’t.” She should have kept silent, but she could not seem to help herself. She was tired of the false accusations, weary of pretending he was always right, and sick to death of him.

“Are ye calling your husband a liar now?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and steeled herself for the slap.

“Stop!” Ragnall shouted. “Let go of her!”

Moira snapped her eyes open when she heard her son’s voice. Ragnall stood with his feet apart and with the stick he had been tossing to his dog clenched in his fist, a small boy mimicking the battle stance of the warrior he would one day be.

Dread weighed down on Moira’s chest. “I’m all right,” she said, meeting Ragnall’s worried glance. “Put that down. Please.”

Fear turned Moira’s insides to liquid as she watched Sean’s face fill with impending violence. Her world hung suspended by the thin thread of her husband’s control.

When Sean threw his head back and barked out a laugh, Moira’s knees felt weak. For once, Sean’s unpredictability had worked in her favor.

“Ye will be a fierce warrior like your father,” Sean said.

Ragnall clenched his jaw as Sean roughed his hair.

“One time, I’ll let ye get away with challenging your father,” Sean said, pointing his finger in Ragnall’s face. “But if ye ever raise your hand to me again, I’ll teach ye a lesson ye won’t soon forget.”

Moira heard the low rumble of a growl and turned to find Sàr approaching with his teeth bared.

“But as punishment, you’ll get rid of that dog,” Sean said.

“Please don’t,” she said. Ragnall loved Sàr. It would break his heart to lose him.

“Enough,” Sean said, glaring at her.

“I won’t do it,” Ragnall said. “Ye can’t make me.”

Oh, no. “Sean, he’s just a bairn,” she pleaded, “He doesn’t mean to challenge ye—”

Sean jerked Moira’s head back by her hair so hard that tears sprang to her eyes. Despite the pain, her first thought was that she had succeeded in diverting him from taking his wrath out on Ragnall. But renewed panic flooded through her when Sean began dragging her across the rocky shore to the water.

“Let me go! Please!” she cried as he pulled her into the frigid water.

Ragnall was trying to follow, but the wolfhound blocked his path each time he got close to the water.

“Make a choice, Ragnall,” Sean shouted. “Your mother or that dog?”

The weight of the water dragged at Moira’s skirts as Sean hauled her into the surf. She stumbled over the rocks and fell to her knees, then gasped as an icy wave caught her full in the face. When Sean jerked her to her feet, her headdress fell off and was carried away with the next wave.

She could hear Ragnall screaming over the crash of the surf as Sean dragged her out farther still. When he finally halted, they were waist-deep, and the waves crested over her head.

“Shall I give her the witch’s test?” Sean called out to Ragnall. Then he grabbed Moira by the back of her neck and said, “We’ll see if ye are lying to me about Colla.”

Witch’s test? Did he mean to drown her?

Moira barely had time to take a deep breath before Sean plunged her head under the water. The shock of the cold nearly caused her to suck in seawater in a gasp. He held her under so long that her lungs were screaming for air. In sheer panic, she flailed her arms and scratched at him, but to no avail.

When he finally pulled her head up, she coughed and wheezed. She could not get enough air. She felt as if the cold had froz. . .