The Outlaw's Bride (The Brides 0f Skye Book 2) Read online

  THE

  OUTLAW’S BRIDE

  B O O K T W O

  T H E B R I D E S O F S K Y E

  J A Y N E C A S T E L

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  A woman desperate to escape an arranged marriage. A prisoner with nothing to lose. The promise that will change their lives forever.

  Adaira MacLeod has just been betrothed to a brutal older man—a chieftain many believe responsible for his last wife’s death. Adaira is desperate. She’ll do anything to avoid wedding him.

  Lachlann Fraser is a chieftain’s eldest son, and prisoner in the Dunvegan dungeon. Captured after a bloody battle between the MacLeods and Frasers, Lachlann faces a bleak and uncertain future … until Adaira approaches him to strike a bargain: his life for her freedom.

  Lachlann agrees—he has nothing to lose and everything to gain. But some bargains come at a high price.

  Historical Romances by Jayne Castel

  DARK AGES BRITAIN

  The Kingdom of the East Angles series

  Night Shadows (prequel novella)

  Dark Under the Cover of Night (Book One)

  Nightfall till Daybreak (Book Two)

  The Deepening Night (Book Three)

  The Kingdom of the East Angles: The Complete Series

  The Kingdom of Mercia series

  The Breaking Dawn (Book One)

  Darkest before Dawn (Book Two)

  Dawn of Wolves (Book Three)

  The Kingdom of Mercia: The Complete Series

  The Kingdom of Northumbria series

  The Whispering Wind (Book One)

  Wind Song (Book Two)

  Lord of the North Wind (Book Three)

  The Kingdom of Northumbria: The Complete Series

  DARK AGES SCOTLAND

  The Warrior Brothers of Skye series

  Blood Feud (Book One)

  Barbarian Slave (Book Two)

  Battle Eagle (Book Three)

  The Warrior Brothers of Skye: The Complete Series

  The Pict Wars series

  Warrior’s Heart (Book One)

  Novellas

  Winter’s Promise

  MEDIEVAL SCOTLAND

  The Brides of Skye series

  The Beast’s Bride (Book One)

  The Outlaw’s Bride (Book Two)

  Epic Fantasy Romances by Jayne Castel

  Light and Darkness series

  Ruled by Shadows (Book One)

  The Lost Swallow (Book Two)

  All characters and situations in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  The Outlaw’s Bride, by Jayne Castel

  Copyright © 2019 by Jayne Castel. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author.

  Published by Winter Mist Press

  Edited by Tim Burton

  Cover photography courtesy of www.shutterstock.com

  Scotch thistle vector image courtesy of Wikipedia Commons.

  Map by Jayne Castel

  Visit Jayne’s website and blog: www.jaynecastel.com

  Follow Jayne on Twitter: @JayneCastel

  ***

  For Tim, per sempre.

  ***

  Contents

  Map

  Chapter One

  Betrothed

  Chapter Two

  My Choices are Few

  Chapter Three

  Just Three Drops

  Chapter Four

  No Place for Ladies

  Chapter Five

  Upon Yer Life

  Chapter Six

  Aingeal

  Chapter Seven

  Decisions

  Chapter Eight

  By Water

  Chapter Nine

  A Stolen Kiss

  Chapter Ten

  Till My Last Breath

  Chapter Eleven

  What a Mess I’ve Made

  Chapter Twelve

  A Warm Welcome

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Happy News

  Chapter Fourteen

  Despair

  Chapter Fifteen

  Reckless

  Chapter Sixteen

  A Feast for the Betrothed

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ill-Tidings

  Chapter Eighteen

  By Moonlight

  Chapter Nineteen

  I Did It For Ye

  Chapter Twenty

  Everything In My Power

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Keeping Warm

  Chapter Twenty-two

  What will ye do now?

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The Lady of Duntulm

  Chapter Twenty-four

  One Chance

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Ill-timing

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Soft-hearted

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Blood of My Blood

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The Heart Decides

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Ten Lifetimes

  Chapter Thirty

  Here We Are

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Secrets

  Chapter Thirty-two

  My North Star

  Epilogue

  Always

  From the author

  More works by Jayne Castel

  About the Author

  Map

  “Better a broken promise than none at all.”

  Mark Twain

  Chapter One

  Betrothed

  Dunvegan Castle, Isle of Skye, Scotland

  Early autumn, 1346 AD

  “SO DELICATE AND fair … I shall enjoy taking yer innocence.”

  Aonghus Budge’s words brought a cold sweat to Adaira MacLeod’s skin. He spoke as if they were alone and used a lover’s voice. Fear clawed its way up Adaira’s throat. She’d barely been able to eat a mouthful of the meal before her anyway. Now, it would be impossible.

  “What’s wrong?” Chieftain Budge crooned, leaning in closer. “Have yer sisters not told ye what happens between a man and a woman?”

  It was shortly after dawn. Adaira sat with her kin and their guest upon the dais in the Great Hall of Dunvegan keep. It was just a day after Adaira’s father had announced that Chieftain Budge would wed his youngest daughter.

  Adaira was still reeling from the shock of it. She felt utterly betrayed by her father.

  The Great Hall was a lofty space dominated by a huge hearth at each end and rows of tables where her father’s men now attacked plates of fresh bannocks, spreading them with butter and honey.

  The rumble of male voices, interspersed with laughter, echoed through the hall, masking her betrothed’s words from the others at the chieftain’s table.

  Adaira swallowed and reached for a cup of milk, anything to distract her from Budge’s love-talk. Raising the cup to her lips, she took a tentative sip—a mistake, for her belly now roiled. Across the table she caught her sister Rhona’s eye.

  Statuesque, with a mane of thick auburn hair, Rhona sat next to her husband, Taran MacKinnon. They’d only recently wed, but Adaira had never seen Rhona so happy. She swore her sister grew more beautiful with each passing day. Taran, whose scarred face made him forbidding to look upon, had indeed won Rhona’s heart.

  Rhona put down the wedge of bannock she’d been buttering an
d fixed Adaira with a look she knew well. Even though Rhona had been unable to discern the words that Aonghus Budge of Islay was murmuring to her, she’d guessed their meaning. There was concern in her sister’s eyes.

  Adaira had never been good at hiding her feelings. Her father had always said she wore them on her face for the whole world to witness.

  “Demure, I see.” There was amusement in Budge’s voice now. “I like that in a woman … less cause for me to give ye a beating … although I’d enjoy that too.”

  Adaira made the mistake of looking at him then.

  The Budge chief was a portly man with florid cheeks and greying brown hair. He was around her father’s age—in his mid-forties. There was something about the warrior that had always frightened Adaira, for Aonghus Budge had been a regular visitor to Dunvegan over the years. She wasn’t sure if it was the slack expression he often wore or his mean pale-blue eyes that frightened her. His thick lips reminded her of two fat slugs, and he had coarse, blunt-tipped fingers. Her heart quailed at the thought of those hands on her body.

  The chieftain grinned, revealing yellowing teeth of which a few were missing. “But with a little fire in yer belly … that’ll make ye fun to bed.”

  Bile rose in Adaira’s throat, burning like vinegar.

  She tore her gaze from his and stared down at the uneaten piece of bannock before her. Fear pulsed through her; she was starting to feel light-headed from it.

  To distract herself, she glanced right to where her eldest sister, Caitrin, sat. Dressed in a black kirtle, a veil covering her pale-blonde hair, Caitrin was the moon to Rhona’s sun. Her beauty was cool and untouchable, even more so this morning for she wore a shuttered expression.

  Caitrin was in mourning for her husband, Baltair, the chieftain of the MacDonalds of Duntulm. He’d fallen in battle two days earlier during a confrontation with the Frasers. But despite Caitrin’s somber clothing, Adaira knew her sister did not truly mourn Baltair MacDonald. He’d been a cruel, brutal husband. Adaira was relieved her sister was free of him, although she wondered what the future would hold for Caitrin. It wouldn’t be long before their father would start looking for another husband for her.

  No wonder Caitrin was planning to leave this morning and head north to the MacDonald stronghold of Duntulm. There, she’d be free from her father’s scheming for a while at least.

  Adaira looked to the head of the table then, to where Malcolm MacLeod himself sat. As usual, her father had the appetite of ten men; a mountain of fresh bannocks sat before him, and he feasted upon them as if he’d not eaten for days. A comely man in his youth, her father’s muscular frame now ran to fat. Rhona had inherited his auburn hair and storm-grey eyes—and his fiery temperament.

  The MacLeod clan-chief was not a man lightly crossed, as Morgan Fraser had recently discovered. The two clans had feuded for the last few years, ever since the Fraser chief’s wife, Una, had run off with Malcolm MacLeod. As always, Una sat silently next to her husband. Dark-haired with sharp blue eyes, Una was a woman who saw much but said little. Adaira had never trusted her.

  “There’s no point looking to yer father,” Budge’s voice cut in. “His mind is made up, lass. The stronger ye protest, the more he’ll dig his heels in.”

  Adaira swung her gaze back to her betrothed. “Rhona told me yer wife didn’t fall down the tower steps,” she gasped out the words before her courage failed. “She said ye pushed her.”

  Chieftain Budge went still. His pale eyes narrowed, and those thick lips stretched into an unpleasant smile. “Folk love to gossip,” he murmured, casting Rhona a dark look. “Ye shouldn’t listen to them.”

  Adaira raised her chin as she’d seen Rhona do countless times when confronting men. The gesture made her feel a little braver. “So ye deny it?”

  “My wife was a silly, clumsy woman who should have watched her step,” he growled, leaning close once more. “Mind ye take care in the tower when I bring ye home. The steps are slippery and worn with age.”

  Adaira pushed herself away from the table and rose to her feet. Enough. She couldn’t stand to be in this man’s presence a moment longer.

  “Adaira?” Caitrin turned to her, snapping out of the dreamlike state she’d been in since sitting down at the table to break her fast. “What’s wrong?”

  Everything.

  “I feel sick,” Adaira replied, forcing her voice not to tremble. “I’m going to my bower.”

  “Sit down, Adaira!” Malcolm MacLeod’s order thundered across the table. “I didn’t give ye permission to retire.”

  Adaira shook her head. “I’m unwell, Da.”

  “No, ye are not,” he boomed, crumbs flying as he spoke with his mouth full. “Ye are drawing attention to yerself. Sit down.”

  Adaira hesitated. At the long table, many pairs of eyes watched her. Some, like those of Caitrin, Rhona, and Taran were filled with concern. Others, like those of her brother, Iain, and step-mother, Una, were indifferent. However, Aonghus Budge’s gaze was victorious. If she obeyed now, he would have won.

  Adaira picked up her skirts, turned, and fled.

  “Adaira MacLeod!” Her father’s roar shook the rafters. “Come back here!”

  But Adaira didn’t heed him. She sprinted from the Great Hall, her long hair flying behind her like a flag.

  Adaira’s breathing was coming in sharp sobs when she reached the battlements. A cool breeze, laced with the salt-tang of the sea, feathered across her wet cheeks. It breathed in from the loch below the castle, a welcome and familiar smell that calmed her galloping heart.

  She’d pay for her disobedience, but she didn’t care. It had been worth it. For a few instants she’d felt free, her feet flying as she bolted from the Great Hall and up the stairwell beyond.

  Adaira gulped in the sea air and approached the battlements, leaning against the cool wall. It was still early in the morning; the sun had not yet warmed the pitted stone. Scrubbing away the tears that still coursed down her cheeks, Adaira raised her face to the sky. An eagle circled overhead in search of prey upon the wind-seared hillsides below. She envied the bird its freedom. Maybe, she too could fly.

  Reaching out, Adaira gripped the edge of the battlements. She leaned forward, going up on tip-toe.

  How easy it would be to launch herself from here. It was a long way down to the bailey courtyard below. She’d never survive the fall.

  She’d be free from Aonghus Budge then.

  Adaira closed her eyes, her fingers digging into stone. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and her pulse pounded in her ears.

  I can’t do it.

  Adaira lowered her head to the edge of the battlements and heaved a deep sob. She couldn’t bear this. Her father was likely to force her to wed Chieftain Budge within the next few days. Like Rhona, who’d been handfasted to Taran on the same day that he’d won her hand in the games, MacLeod would waste no time in ensuring his daughter was shackled.

  Adaira sucked in another lungful of air, forcing back the grief that thundered through her like surf upon the shore.

  My life is over.

  Chapter Two

  My Choices are Few

  LACHLANN FRASER GLARED up through the darkness. He craned his neck back, his eyes squinting at the tiny slivers of light that filtered in through the grate above. The guards had just thrown him down weevil-infested bread and moldy cheese—his third meal since he’d been in the Dunvegan dungeon.

  After three sunless days, the darkness was slowly starting to break him. Lachlann could feel it, chipping away at the corners of his mind, gnawing at his self-control. He wondered how many men had gone mad down here.

  The guards hadn’t moved away from his cell yet. Coarse laughter filtered down.

  “Do ye want some meat to go with yer supper?” A voice echoed from above.

  Lachlann didn’t reply. He hadn’t spoken to the guards since his arrival here; instead, he saved his energy and passed the hours imagining how he’d kill them when he got out.

&nbs
p; “Here … eat up!”

  The grating sound of metal echoed through the cell as the guards lifted the grate above once more. Something fell inside, landing with a thud at Lachlann’s feet.

  A heartbeat later torchlight flooded into the cell, highlighting the filth-smeared walls and the straw-littered floor. The chunk of bread and cheese that Lachlann had not yet touched lay around him—along with the corpse of a giant rat that the guards had just thrown into his cell.

  Lachlann’s eyes watered, and he blinked furiously, trying to get used to the light. At the sight of the rat, his stomach clenched.

  “What's wrong, lad?” Coarse laughter filtered into the cell. There were two of them up there, chortling at his fate. “It’s fresh!”

  Another burst of mirth assaulted his ears.

  Lachlann sucked in a deep breath. Aye, he’d enjoy killing these two. He’d take the one that laughed all the time first. He’d slit his throat and watch while he choked on his own blood. His friend, the one who tormented him the most, he’d kill more slowly. A wound to his belly perhaps.

  A disappointed silence fell, before one of the guards gave a snort and tossed something else into the pit. It was a bladder of water, stoppered tight.

  Lachlann stifled the urge to grab it, for his mouth felt like dried cracked leather, and his throat was so parched it made it hard to swallow. But he would wait until the guards had gone before he slaked his thirst.

  “We’ve got a proud one here,” the mouthy guard observed, a sneering edge to his voice. “Pride will do ye no good here, Fraser. It'll only turn ye mad. In a few days, we'll hear ye howling for yer mother.”