The Highlander's Unexpected Proposal Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Scots-Gaelic Words

  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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Get Scandalous with these historical reads… Her Accidental Highlander Husband

  Highland Renegade

  A Scot to Wed

  Highland Obligation

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Heather McCollum. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

 

  Scandalous is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Alethea Spiridon and Liz Pelletier

  Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Cover photography by Period Images

  stokkete and letsgobowling/Deposit Photos

  ISBN 978-1-64937-059-4

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition October 2020

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  To Alethea, my wonderful editor!

  Thank you for returning. I may not be the reason, but luck was definitely with me (like Lark). Here is to many future projects together!

  Scots-Gaelic Words

  Air do shocair – Slow down

  Lasair – Flame (Adam’s horse)

  Mattucashlass – Short dagger

  Mo chreach – My rage

  Och, but – a mild exclamation of frustration

  Sgian dubh – Black-handled knife

  Stad – Stop

  Ulva Isle – Wolf Island (Norse)

  Penned in the back of the Macquarie Clan bible

  Samhain in the year of our Lord 1422

  Wild and wicked, the gnarled crone spat before the large willow tree in the castle’s bailey.

  “A curse upon thee, Chief Wilyam Macquarie, and your land. For ripping my daughter, Elspeth’s, heart in two after getting her with child and not wedding her, killing her as if ye wrapped the noose around her neck yourself… Until your clan ceases creating bastards, turning them out into the cruel world alone…until the day when your clan learns what love is, your land and all those upon it will be barren. Your crops and livestock will wither, illness will spread, and sorrow will prevail.”

  The witch clutched the dagger, stained with blood, and stabbed it into the tree. From that moment on, the tree bled, weeping for the Macquarie clan of Ulva.

  Witnessed by

  Chief Wilyam Macquarie

  Randall Maclean

  Dawy Macquarie

  Flora Macquarie

  Chapter One

  1 May 1545

  Glencoe North of Loch Lomand, Scotland

  Adam Macquarie walked around the edge of the contest field to see if he could spot anyone that might cause trouble at the Beltane Festival he had chosen for his mission. Several men stood watching the caber toss. The large thrower grunted under the weight of the one-hundred-fifty-pound log as he lifted it toward the sky, flipping it to land close to the true-north position.

  Adam dodged tents, laughing children, and several young lads who pointed to his sheathed sword, whispering guesses about how many men it had slain. The morning sun slanted down into the valley, sheltered from the Highland wind, and the shade of the small forest beckoned. It would grow hot, making him miss Wolf Isle off the west coast. He uncorked his leather flask and drank as he strode into the woods.

  The soaring trees and saplings had already unfurled their spring leaves, and the canopy muted the cheers, music, and laughter below, bringing peace. He inhaled the cool zest of pine and took another drink before hiking a few more steps higher. A flash of blue on the ground caught his gaze.

  A lady’s shoe sat on top of the leaf litter below a thick, branched tree. He nudged it with his boot and glanced upward, spying the match balanced on a limb high above. The lass’s other foot was bare, her toes curled to hold her in place. Blue skirts were rucked upward, twisted around her legs. Adam moved side to side to see past the leaves. Dark lashes framed wide eyes set in a heart-shaped face. Reddish hair hung to one side in a thick braid.

  “Her father says he will not take her home, so she has to wed tonight.” A man’s voice broke the stillness of the wood. “She has no choice but to wed me.”

  “I have asked for her, too,” came another man’s reply. “Perhaps we could share her,” he said with a bark of laughter, hitting the other man’s arm.

  “She will not wed either of us if we cannot find her,” the first said.

  “She could say no to us both.”

  “Roylin was half in the bag last night with whisky and said he’d sell her off tomorrow if she did not wed. With four other girls and no dowries, Lark must marry at this festival. Tonight.”

  “Bloody hell, five girls and not a single lad.”

  “Seems Roylin Montgomerie only makes lasses.” The man spit.

  Only lasses?

  We need lasses on the isle if ye want to rebuild it. His father’s old friend, Rabbie, uttered the reminder daily. The words burrowed through Adam’s skull. As if he didn’t already know his mission.

  The two men stepped into the shade of the forest. “Oh, Lark,” one called, extending the name like a song. “Where are ye, lass? Fergus and I have something to ask ye.”

  Adam bent to retrieve the lost slipper, sliding it into the drape of his plaid and stepping away from the tree. “Ho there,” he called, making the men stop, their hands moving to their short swords. “Finding a bit of shade,” Adam said with what he hoped was a smile. He didn’t smile often, so it felt tight.

  One fellow frowned, but the other raised a hand in greeting. “Have ye seen a lass with wavy red hair come through here?”

  Adam looked off in another direction. “Nay, but I heard someone up that way. Twigs snapping, that sort of noise. Thought it was children hunting for berries.”

  “Thank ye…” the smiling man said, a question in his tone.

  “Adam, Adam Macquarie.” His sword hung casually by his side, easy to grab if they reacted poorly to his name.

  “Macquarie? Not too many of ye around anymore. I am a Cameron, Giles Cameron.”

  The other man spit on the ground and didn’t bother to introduce himself. They hiked off in the direction Adam had indicated. After a long minute, he leaned back against the tree. “Would ye like assistance?” he asked without looking up.

  “Go away,” she said, her words in a forceful whisper.

  Adam pushed away from the tree. He would not press upon a reluctant lass, even one from a family that only produced females. His brother, Beck, would find a bride elsewhere.

  “Blast,” the woman whispered. Perhaps she was too stubborn to ask for help. Stubborn determination was something Adam knew well. It was what kept people alive, kept them moving forward when all seemed lost.

  The leaves shook as the woman moved in the boughs of the tree. Adam walked under the branch where bare toes reached down, flexing and pointing, as she felt around blindly. Her toes were tiny appendages, the nails neat and without dirt. The lass’s skirts billowed out as she squatted. “God’s teeth,” she murmured.

  Dodging the wildly circling kick, he reached up. “I will guide your foot to the branch,” he said. Her toes flexed. Glancing up, he saw a pale face with large blue eyes tipped down toward him. A thick braid hung over one shoulder, and her lips looked soft and lush. A sprinkling of freckles sat along her high cheekbones and the bridge of her nose.

  She blinked at him, her mouth closing into a tight line. “I need no help.”

  “Your cursing makes me think ye lie.” Her toes dangled in the air an inch above the branch that she could not see due to the petticoats. She gasped as he caught her foot, tugging until the ball of it touched the branch, her perfectly formed little toes curling around to help her balance.

  Holding tightly above her, she stretched while staring down at him. “Move back, and I can jump down,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

  She had the longest eyelashes, and some red curls had escaped her braid to slide forwar
d along her smooth cheeks. “A leap from that high could break your ankle.” He reached for her waist.

  Shuffling sideways, she said, “I do not need any man to—” Her denial cut off as she lost her balance, falling forward, her hands grasping at the weak twigs with leaves, making the tree shudder. Adam caught her, his hands wrapping around her cinched waist to pull her toward him.

  Her skirts caught on the branch, lifting them high as she descended. “Bloody hell.” She slapped her petticoat off the fingerlike branches that seemed intent on exposing the secrets she kept beneath.

  Her lush form slid down his, and he inhaled at the contact, as if the pressure of her plucked along every muscle in his body. She smelled of some type of flower and spice, making him suck in another breath as he held her form against him. She felt as soft as he was hard. For several heartbeats, they stared at one another, her face mere inches from his. What does she taste like?

  Her eyes grew wide, making him wonder for a moment if he’d spoken aloud. “Put me down,” she said, shoving against his chest.

  Adam lowered her and stepped back as she righted the twisted blue gown around her trim waist, her full breasts pushing against the confines of her laced bodice. He could see why the two suitors were not taking rejection easily. Adam nodded in the direction the two swains had hurried. “They went that way. Ye should roll around in mud or go about with your hair soaked and straggly to keep them away.”

  Her lips opened as her brows raised, and he turned, traipsing away. The family only produced females, and the father was desperate to wed his daughter off. Halfway back to his camp, he realized that he still held her slipper. Damn. Pulling it from his sash, he frowned, knowing that he would give it to his brother, Beck, to return to her.

  …

  Lark Montgomerie wiped her arm against her brow without losing the rhythm of the dasher shooting up and down in the butter churn, her mind churning just as fast.

  Ye will wed tonight. Lord, the sun was already starting to descend. Each second brought her closer to her being forced to take some irksome, lusty man as a husband.

  Her stomach tightened on Roylin Montgomerie’s words, making it twist so much she thought she might lose the little bit she’d eaten to break her fast. She glanced up into the woods behind the tent. Could she make it on foot to another town without being eaten by wolves or taken by wandering bandits? She was utterly ignorant on survival skills outside the home.

  “Maybe being eaten by wolves would be better than marrying an arse,” she murmured. But walking to safety would be impossible on foot, especially when missing a shoe.

  Lark braced her feet on either side of the churn, frowning at her one bare foot, now speckled with dirt. Not only had the fierce, dark-haired Highlander held her against his hard body until she had flushed from her scalp to her toes, the blasted man had stolen her slipper. It didn’t matter that he’d held her without any effort or that his gray eyes had studied her with real interest. Or that he had kept her from falling from the tree. He had held her against him, and she’d lost her mind for a moment. Adam Macquarie.

  With renewed annoyance, Lark threw her muscle into her work, ignoring the ache forming in her shoulders. “Roll around in mud and soak my head?” Would that be enough to deter a man?

  “Talking to yourself?” Anna asked as she brought up a bucket of spring water. Her pretty golden hair was tied up high, and she wore one of their mother’s dresses that Lark had hemmed for her. She lifted out a wooden bowl and offered it to Lark. “With the way you are working that dasher, you have probably finished the butter.”

  “I lost a slipper,” she said, taking the bowl. The cool water washed away the dryness in her mouth.

  Anna planted hands on her hips. “How do you lose a slipper off your foot without noticing?”

  “It dropped off when I was climbing a tree to escape Giles and Fergus, those foolhardy jackanapes. Then some bloody Highlander stole it.”

  “A mistake, one which I am now remedying.” The deep voice cut through Lark’s breath as she faced Anna’s wide eyes.

  It took all Lark’s will not to smooth her hair and wipe the moisture from her brow before turning. But nothing could stop the blush from catching her cheeks on fire. Adam Macquarie seemed even larger standing between her family’s two tents, but his size did not make her feel small. The wind blew, and for a moment, his presence seemed to block her worry, allowing her to breathe in fully. Broad shoulders led to bare, bronzed arms, arms that had held her without demanding anything from her. She noticed a scar along his jawline, near his ear. Had it been earned in battle? Dark hair caught in the breeze, moving haphazardly around a strong, smooth jaw, which had been covered with dark stubble before.

  He stepped closer, and gray eyes stared intently into her own. “I have no need for a lady’s slipper. I picked it up so those jackanapes did not find it, and I forgot I held it.”

  “You shaved,” she said and nearly bit her tongue.

  His empty hand rubbed his chin without releasing her gaze. “Aye.” There was such depth to his gray eyes, like he’d seen the world but decided he’d rather look at her.

  The man, who’d walked up with him, strode forward, taking the shoe from Adam’s hand. “Shall I place it back where it belongs?” he asked, a full grin on his face. There was a resemblance between them, but he was fairer in coloring and smiled easily with practiced charm. He looked like a scoundrel.

  “No,” Lark said, snatching the shoe.

  Anna came forward. “I am Annabella Montgomerie, and this is my older sister, Lark.” She bobbed in greeting, as their mother had taught them when they were young girls trying to prove their worth. Lark had finally given up when she realized that nothing but hard work would prove her worth.

  Lark worked her toes into the grass to get off as much dirt as she could. She slipped the shoe back onto her foot, wishing once again for boots.

  “Beckett Macquarie,” the man said, thumping his chest. “Although I go by Beck. And this is my older brother Adam, the chief of the Macquarie Clan.”

  “Chief?” Anna asked.

  “Aye.” Beck slapped a hand on his shoulder. “He is the eldest by a year and definitely the most serious. Perfect to be the new chief to our small clan on Ulva Isle off the west coast.” He smiled at Anna and turned back to Lark. “And ye are the eldest Montgomerie,” Beck said, tilting his head. “Will ye be at the Beltane fires tonight?”

  “I will,” Anna chimed in. “Lark does not like going, but our father will make her this year. She must choose a suitor and marry this very night.”

  “Holy Mother Mary,” Lark whispered. Anna gave out unnecessary information as much as their father did when he was drinking.

  Beck looked between the two of them. “Ye are not being married off tonight then?” he asked Anna.

  She giggled. “No,” Anna said. “Only Lark.”

  Beck shifted closer to her sister. “We happen to be looking for brides,” he said.

  “Oh,” Anna said, the word coming out more like a gasp.

  “We are a small clan that needs to grow,” he added quickly.

  Lark glanced at Adam. Where his brother was all smiles and teasing good looks, the leader of their clan was fierce and serious with that scar and lowered brows. As if he would be more comfortable slashing foes on a battlefield than discussing brides.

  Anna clasped her hands before her and nodded her way. “Lark’s the eldest, well past time to wed, so Da is focused on marrying her off at this festival.”

  “Anna,” Lark snapped.

  “Although,” Anna continued, “that has been rather daunting.”

  Lark kicked Anna through the long folds of her dress, making her sister frown.

  “’Tis true,” Anna said. “You do not like anyone.”

  “I certainly do not like you right now,” Lark said and busied herself by looking inside the churn at the clumps of butter in the clear liquid.

  “Ye do not wish to marry?” Adam asked, his deep voice teasing a shiver through her. It beckoned her like the waves she had seen crashing on the shore during their journey there. Powerful and rugged yet bound by the reality of the rocks surrounding them.

  She could refuse the whole institution of marriage, but the thought of staying in Roylin Montgomerie’s house made her stomach twist just as hard as considering Giles and Fergus. She slid her gaze away from the trees, where the sun had already started its decline, to Adam’s intense eyes. “Not when I am forced to choose a young idiot who would rather chase after me than attend more serious endeavors.”