Page 1 of Highland Heart

Chapter one

DUGALD

1698, Castle Tighe, Scotland

“You’re just a boy,” Rosina said, looking at him with her nose in the air.

It was a beautiful nose. He wanted to kiss the tip of it. In fact Dugald wanted to kiss every inch of her despite her disparaging comments. She might think he was a boy, and at sixteen Dugald might be considered so, in an ordinary world. But he was the youngest son of a landless Campbell, and his family were now men for hire at Castle Tighe. Dugald more than pulled his weight.

Last month he had gone out on a raid to a neighbouring landholder, regardless of his father not agreeing with it. Hamish Campbell was an honest and upright man, and he wasn’t afraid to voice his opinion—that the Laird of Castle Tighe was a brutal and dishonest thief.

During the raid, Dugald had fought several men, men older than himself, and each time he had won. He was big and strong, and wily. Perhaps not as big as his eldest brother Ewen, but he was well on his way. So, aye, he might be sixteen in years but in every other respect he was already a man.

“Am I just a boy?” he murmured to Rosina now, curving his hand about her slim waist. At twenty years she thought herself too old for him, despite the fact he towered over her and already had more muscles than she would ever have.

Rosina Gordon was a lady in waiting to the Laird’s daughter, Elspit. Once wealthy and important, the Gordons had lost everything to the Laird when Rosina’s father was killed in a dispute between them, and as a consequence Rosina and her mother had been forced to take up residence at Castle Tighe. Their pride was dealt another blow when they were ordered to serve their conqueror’s family. It helped though that Elspit was a sweet girl, who was in love with Dugald’s brother Ewen.

Rosina had been brought up in a strict household, her behaviour scrutinised, and she was punished if her mother did not think it came up to scratch. He was aware that she was always wary of putting a foot wrong, and she thought Dugald, a penniless young suitor, was about as wrong as she could get.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm on her face. Rosina had delicate features and grey eyes like a Scottish storm. Her hair was a dark brown, but thick and wavy, and as if to make her life more difficult, it was always escaping her pins no matter how hard she tried to contain it. Dugald liked to think that beneath her tightly wound exterior Rosina was like her hair. Rebellious. She just didn’t show it very often. He longed for nothing more than to bring out that inner rebel.

Dugald wanted Rosina, and that want had only grown over the passing months.

Her grey eyes flickered to his uneasily. “Dugald?” she murmured.

His body was pressed to hers now and he could feel every warm soft curve. His lips drifted over her cheek bone, lingering on the corner of her mouth. He could see the pulse fluttering in her throat, and rested his thumb upon it.

“Where I come from, if marriage before a priest is not possible, we hand fast.”

The pulse in her throat quickened and he felt her swallow. “I know what hand fasting is,” she whispered. “It is when a man takes a woman’s hand in his and they declare themselves wed. My mother says the practice is not safe. That the woman is too easily put aside.”

“I would never put you aside,” he said huskily.

Her eyes widened. “Dugald, are you asking me to hand fast with you?”

“Aye,” he said. Then, when he saw all the objections swirling in her eyes, “You love me, Rosina. I know it. When I came home from the raid the other night you held me so tightly I feared my ribs would crack.”

“I was concerned, that was all,” she murmured, turning her face away, but he saw the blush on her cheek. “It was no more than I would show to any man who had been in danger.”

“I didn’t see you cuddling my brothers Finlay and Callum, or old McIntyre.”

She sighed. “Very well. I do have a ... fondness for you, Dugald, but that does not mean we should act upon it.”

“Why not?”

She turned to stare at him. “Why not?” she repeated as if his wits were wanting. “Because you are sixteen and I am twenty!”

“So that is your only argument?” he said. “That there are four years between us? Not that I am the son of a landless father and you are the daughter of a man who once had wealth and power? I know your mother does not think I am good enough for you, but it is what you think that matters.”

“My mother lives in the past,” she said with quiet bitterness. “What I am now is a lady in waiting to my oppressor. I am his hostage, to marry to whom he wishes, and he will not wish me to marry you, Dugald.”

Dugald shrugged. “I am not about to let the Laird of Tighe tell me what to do, and nor should you. We can hand fast and then, when the time is right, we will explain the situation to our families and marry before God.”

She sighed. “And there, Dugald, you show me your youth and inexperience. The time will never be right.”

He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you. I have given my heart to you. Do not laugh at me and say I am too young. Say ‘Yes, dearest Dougal’.”

Her hands lifted and after a brief hesitation she slid them around his neck. Her body was so close to his now that he could feel her trembling. Rosina was a serious young woman, and she did not make decisions lightly. He watched her curiously, wondering what she was about to say. He suspected it would be no, and then more excuses, but to his amazement she said: