Page 1 of Highlander’s Forbidden Fruit

Prologue

“Lord in Heaven!”

Evanna peered out her window at the ground below. She bit her lower lip, and a frown creased her brow as she considered the fall. The owl that lived in the tree across her window bent its head to the side and hooted skepticism too. Evanna sighed and stepped back inside her room. This complicated things.

Evanna MacLeod was running away from home, and it was all father's fault. He was being obstinate and completely dismissive of her feelings. Of course, he didn't understand. How could he? He had been to London once in his life and had never expressed the desire to go there again. The green hills and deep pools of Glenlivet were all anyone ever needed as far as he was concerned, and he felt no need to leave it. Nor did he understand Evanna's need to see the world and be part of London society.

“It's naught but posh English bastards with long sticks up their arses,” her father had laughed when she had told him she wanted to visit. “They’ll lay rot to yer sweet nature.”

“But Clara said the balls are heaps of fun,” Evanna had protested. “Imagine the gowns, the jewels, the people! Oh, Da, please let me go.”

“That Clara has nae a lickspittle of sense between her ears, and I will nae have ye learnin’ her foolish ways. I love her father like a brother, but he is much too lax with her upbringing.”

“But, Da-”

“I said nae! There’s naught in London that Glenlivet does nae do better. Write to Clara and ask her to come to visit if ye miss the lass, but yer nae going, and that’s the end of that! Here, have some berries with cream and wipe that frown off yer bonny brow, eh?”

And that had been the end of the argument as far as Laird Julius MacLeod was concerned. Slap her wrist then take away the sting from the punishment by giving her a sweet treat or present - that had always been her father’s way. But it wasn’t going to work anymore. Evanna was seventeen now and had moved on from throwing tantrums. She had bitten the inside of her cheek and kept her own counsel. It wasn’t over. Not till she had her way.

Evanna couldn’t explain why she craved to see the outside world. The only child of the Laird, she had never felt the lack of a motherly figure until the day Lady Ashby had come to visit in her fancy carriage. Tall, dark, and statuesque, Lady Ashby had stood in their courtyard in wine-red silks, a picture of beauty and grace. Little Clara had hidden behind her mother’s skirts, a perfect copy of Lady Ashby.

Evanna, seven at the time, had been mortified by her own dirty stockings and torn smock. But Lady Ashby hadn’t paid any mind. She had embraced Evanna with open arms—the heady scent of honey and wildflowers enveloping the little girl.

Though Evanna hadn’t learned much by way of comportment and ladylike manners in the ensuing years, she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up. She wanted to be just like Lady Ashby.

But that wasn’t the only reason she wanted to run away. Heartache was part and parcel of her desire to leave home for more hopeful lands. But she refused to think about that now. She had much more pressing matters that required her full attention.

Out the window wasn’t an option. She’d break her neck and die, or worse, break her leg and have to face the wrath of her father. Tucking the makeshift rope of tied bedsheets under the bed, Evanna straightened herself to consider her options. The only way out was through the annex that connected the main hall and the church. It was risky. She had a higher chance of getting caught. But she had no other choice.

The church doors were never locked. Something about keeping God’s house open at all hours to absolve the sins of the wicked. Evanna could just picture Father Gilmore, their priest, looking at her from under his bushy gray eyebrows, pinning her to the spot.

Dismissing the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, Evanna started preparing for her escape.

Would it be wicked to use God’s church as a means to disobey her father’s command and run off to a world of balls, gowns, and men in London?

Maybe.

All right! Very likely.

But she had to go.

Stripping down to her shift, Evanna pulled on a pair of riding breeches. She glanced in the mirror and cupped her breasts. They were full and filled both her palms easily. She frowned at their abundance. A length of cotton cloth was produced from her chest of drawers and she started binding her breasts. It hurt and restricted her breathing but there was nothing else for it. Once she was done, she pulled on a loose cotton shirt. These were her customary riding clothes, and though they would help her blend into the night, she feared recognition above all else.

Careful not to make any noise, she slipped on her riding boots before moving on to the most difficult task at hand.

Pulling out a pair of stockings, scissors, hairpins, and a brush, Evanna sat down in front of her mirror and began taming her mass of golden curls. They fell every which way and reached just below her buttocks. Many governesses had come and gone, each and every one had despaired of Evanna’s untamed spirit matched perfectly by her wild hair.

Evanna sat down to accomplish the impossible. She brushed her hair and pinned it to her head. Unruly strands poked out and she pinned them down too till her head resembled the raggedy mess of Stephen the scarecrow.

Throughout the laborious work, she eyed the scissors. As her arms tired, she considered chopping the whole mess off, but Lady Ashby’s reaction to her shorn head stayed her hand.

“Gah! If only Da would listen to reason. I would nae have to take such desperate measures.”

Biting her full lips, she cut up the pair of stockings and tied it around her head, trapping the wild wisps. Her high cheekbones and pointed chin made her look like a wastrel young boy from the docks. Her blue eyes flashed in determination; she swept her hand against the hearth and rubbed some ash across her brow, cheeks, and clothes. As disguises went, this was a very good one.

For the final touch, she fished out a dirty cap from the bottom drawer of her writing desk and pinned it securely on her head. She looked at herself in the mirror. No one would recognize her, not even her father. Evanna flashed herself a roguish smile and tipped her hat as she’d seen men do when the pretty maids passed by in the village.

Satisfied she got up and dug out the satchel she had packed two nights previously with money she had stolen from her father. Laird Julius MacLeod was rich enough not to miss a little gold and silver. His only child, on the other hand? She was sure he would miss her, but then he should have let her go with his blessings.