The Laird's Return: A Highland Festive Romance Novella (The Immortal Highland Centurions) Read online

  Is it too late for a second chance at love? An embittered laird. A loyal wife. A new start. A Yuletide romance in Medieval Scotland.

  Robert De Keith has spent the last eight years rotting in an English dungeon. But when he returns home to Dunnottar Castle, he soon realizes he doesn’t fit into his old life anymore.

  His wife, Elizabeth, has ruled the castle in his absence. However, the woman who greets him now seems a stranger. Time and events have altered them both.

  As Yule approaches, Robert and Elizabeth struggle to salvage their marriage and overcome the bitterness and distrust that separates them. But can they—or has life changed them both too much?

  THE LAIRD’S RETURN is a stand-alone Highland Festive Novella about the power of enduring love set in the same world as THE IMMORTAL HIGHLAND CENTURIONS.

  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)

  Warrior’s Secret (Book Two)

  Warrior’s Wrath (Book Three)

  The Pict Wars: The Complete Series

  Novellas

  Winter’s Promise

  MEDIEVAL SCOTLAND

  The Brides of Skye series

  The Beast’s Bride (Book One)

  The Outlaw’s Bride (Book Two)

  The Rogue’s Bride (Book Three)

  The Brides of Skye: The Complete Series

  The Sisters of Kilbride series

  Unforgotten (Book One)

  Awoken (Book Two)

  Fallen (Book Three)

  Claimed (Epilogue novella)

  The Immortal Highland Centurions series

  Maximus (Book One)

  Cassian (Book Two)

  Draco (Book Three)

  The Laird’s Return (Epilogue festive novella)

  Epic Fantasy Romances by Jayne Castel

  Light and Darkness series

  Ruled by Shadows (Book One)

  The Lost Swallow (Book Two)

  Path of the Dark (Book Three)

  Light and Darkness: The Complete Series

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

  The Laird’s Return, by Jayne Castel

  Copyright © 2020 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 design by Winter Mist Press

  Cover photography courtesy of www.shutterstock.com

  Holly image courtesy of www.pixabay.com

  Visit Jayne’s website: www.jaynecastel.com

  ***

  To my readers!

  ***

  Contents

  I

  THE IMPOSTER

  II

  AN AWKWARD REUNION

  III

  SEPARATE CHAMBERS

  IV

  SPARRING

  V

  DREDGING UP THE PAST

  VI

  AWAY TOO LONG

  VII

  DECORATING THE HALL

  VIII

  STARTING AFRESH

  IX

  COMING HOME

  X

  THE FADING LIGHT

  XI

  PROTECTIVE

  XII

  IN THE STABLES

  EPILOGUE

  LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  MORE WORKS BY JAYNE CASTEL

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  “It’s not what they take away from you that counts.

  It’s what you do with what you have left.

  —Hubert Humphrey

  I

  THE IMPOSTER

  Dunnottar Castle

  Scotland

  Winter, 1308

  HIS FEET AND hands were numb by the time Dunnottar rose against the northern sky.

  Robert De Keith drew up his sturdy garron, his gaze taking in the view before him.

  How often over the past eight years had he dreamed of this moment? There had been times when he’d despaired, when he’d believed he’d never see home again, never set foot on Scottish soil once more.

  Robert blinked, dislodging a snow flake that had settled on his eyelashes. Around him, white blanketed the world in a chill crust. His garron stood up to its fetlocks in snow. Winter held Scotland in its grip as the ‘Long Night’ approached. Yuletide was just a few days away now.

  Remaining there, staring at the grey curtain walls, Robert felt as if he’d strayed into a dream. It had been a long journey up from Warkworth Castle in Northumberland—where he’d been imprisoned for nearly a decade. Even when they’d let him walk free, he’d had difficulty believing it.

  He’d expected to feel joy at seeing Dunnottar again—but, strangely, he didn’t.

  Instead, he felt nothing.

  Urging the garron forward, Robert rode toward the cliff-top opposite the castle. Dunnottar held a strategically defensive position upon a rocky outcrop, linked to the mainland by a thin strip of land. The approach was difficult—much to the chagrin of those who’d attempted to lay siege to the castle over the years. A steep path led down from the gates to the bottom of the cliff on which Robert now dismounted his garron.

  Carefully, he led his mount down the slope, testing each step. Under normal circumstances this slope was tricky, but covered with snow it was perilous. Robert didn’t want his faithful mount to break a leg.

  Reaching the bottom, Robert swung up onto the garron’s back once more and urged the stout pony up to the gates. Craning his neck, he spied the outlines of men wielding spears silhouetted against the pale sky and fluttering snow.

  “Who goes there?” One of the guards shouted. “What’s yer business at Dunnottar, stranger?”

  Robert’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. Stranger?

  Aye, he’d been gone long enough now that his own men wouldn’t recognize him these days. Frankly, despite that this magnificent keep belonged to him, he didn’t feel comfortable returning.

  Shoving aside the sensation, Robert peered up at the helmed face above him. “I’m Robert De Keith,” he called back, his voice ringing off stone. “Laird of this castle. Open the gates!”

  The Captain of the Dunnottar Guar
d met Robert in the lower ward bailey.

  Cassian Gaius’s face split into a wide grin as he strode across the snow-covered cobbles to meet him. A cloak of De Keith plaid—blue, green, and turquoise cross-hatchings—rippled from his shoulders. “Robert! You’re alive.”

  The welcome, although warm, made tension ripple through Robert.

  So, they all think I’m dead?

  Once again, a sensation of displacement flooded over him. He didn’t belong here. He was an interloper, a man who’d risen from the dead.

  “I am.” Robert managed a tight smile. None of this was Cassian’s fault. He’d always liked the Spaniard—an enigmatic warrior who’d joined the Dunnottar Guard a few years before Robert’s capture and proved himself worthy of leading it within the turning of a year.

  As the captain neared, Robert noted that he looked older: his skin was a little more leathery, and there were laughter lines around the eyes. However, his brown hair, slightly longer than Robert remembered, was still untouched by silver.

  Aye, we’re all older. Robert was sure he too had been weathered by the passing of time. Have the years been kind to Elizabeth?

  The thought brought Robert up short, his gaze flicking to the keep towering above him. The numbness in his chest disappeared then, replaced by a squeezing sensation.

  Was his wife even here? Nearly a decade had passed since his capture. If she, like Cassian, thought he was dead, she may have returned to her kin.

  “Captain.” Robert dismounted the Highland pony and strode to the big man. They clasped arms, and for the first time since leaving Warkworth, Robert felt a flicker of warmth within him.

  The joy on the captain’s face wasn’t feigned. Cassian’s eyes gleamed, his gaze riveted upon Robert. “So, those bastards finally let you go?”

  Robert nodded, his mouth thinning. His release had been a shock to him too. He’d dreaded the day his captors would take him from the cells and to the walls, where they’d string him up on the gallows.

  Years had inched by as he waited for the day to come.

  But it hadn’t.

  “So, David’s gotten comfortable in my chair, has he?” Robert cocked an eyebrow. It was better if he kept this exchange light, even if his gut was now tying itself up in knots.

  He wasn’t looking forward to seeing David. His brother had always coveted power and wouldn’t want to relinquish his position.

  The captain grew still, his hazel eyes narrowing. “You don’t know about David?”

  Robert frowned, the tension within him winding tighter. “I’ve been locked up in an English dungeon for years, Gaius,” he growled. “Not one missive from Dunnottar reached me in that time. How would I know what has befallen my brother?”

  Cassian’s expression grew grave. “He’s dead, Robert. Seven years ago now.”

  Silence fell between them while Robert took in this news. He wasn’t going to feign grief. David had been a weasel, and likely hadn’t made the slightest effort to get his elder brother returned.

  Even so, he hadn’t expected this.

  “How?” he asked finally.

  Cassian cleared his throat. “Well … that’s quite a tale, De Keith.” He paused then, dragging a hand through his shaggy hair. “He tried to kill Edward Longshanks and got a dirk to the throat for his trouble.”

  Robert sucked in a surprised breath. “What?”

  Cassian’s mouth twisted. “I know … hard to believe, but true. Go up and see Lady Elizabeth … I’m sure she’ll fill you in on all the details.”

  So, she’s still at Dunnottar after all.

  Robert’s pulse started to race. The mention of Elizabeth was a jab to the belly. He wasn’t ready to face her again, not yet.

  Coward.

  This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? All he’d thought about for many years was his wife. The promise of being reunited with her was the only thing that had kept him going. But when he didn’t hear from her, despair had slowly descended upon him. Anger followed, till an ember of resentment glowed hot in his belly. For the last months, he’d felt torn whenever thoughts of Elizabeth crept into his mind.

  And now that he stood within Dunnottar’s lower ward bailey—laird of his lands once more—longing warred with bitterness and anger.

  Aye, Elizabeth hadn’t returned to her kin. All the same, she likely thought herself a widow these days. How would she feel about having her husband return from the dead? He felt like an imposter—but would she treat him like one?

  Robert cleared his throat, his heart now pounding—and despite the chill day and the snow that continued to fall silently around him, he was sweating. When he spoke, his voice held a hoarse edge. “Elizabeth … is she well?”

  Cassian smiled. “She is. Lady Elizabeth has been laird of Dunnottar in your absence.”

  II

  AN AWKWARD REUNION

  “ELIZABETH! YER HUSBAND is here!”

  The words, which Gavina cried as she burst into the solar, made Elizabeth stab herself in the finger.

  Dropping both the needle and her embroidery, Elizabeth stared—dumbstruck—at the heavily pregnant woman before her.

  Gavina’s belly had grown huge over the past fortnight. Elizabeth was sure the birth was just days away now. Gavina had actually started to waddle as she walked.

  But Elizabeth paid none of that any attention at present—instead, she stared at Gavina as if she’d just announced a troupe of brownies had flooded into the keep.

  “What did ye just say?” The question came out in a strangled gasp.

  “Robert!” Gavina clasped her hands over her swollen belly. “He’s returned!”

  Elizabeth rose to her feet, her embroidery fluttering to the floor. Her heart started to thud painfully against her breast bone, and she suddenly felt light-headed. “Where is he?”

  “On his way up to see ye.”

  Elizabeth stared at Gavina a moment longer.

  Robert’s here?

  Rousing herself, she shot past her friend, her feet moving of their own accord.

  Joy filtered up as the shock abated. For years, she’d believed him dead—that King Edward of England had ordered him executed after what her brother-by-marriage had done.

  But Gavina wasn’t lying. She’d seen the truth in the woman’s eyes.

  Robert was alive and had returned to Dunnottar.

  Picking up her skirts, Elizabeth practically flew down the hallway, past the chamber where Father Finlay was teaching Robbie Latin—she could hear their voices as the lad recited words after the chaplain.

  But Elizabeth didn’t alter her course, didn’t halt to take her son from his lessons.

  She had to see this first. She had to witness Robert with her own eyes before she’d believe he’d survived.

  They met halfway down the stairs.

  Elizabeth halted, her gaze alighting upon a tall, broad-shouldered man with long brown hair, who came to a stop a few steps below her.

  For a moment, they just stared at each other.

  Elizabeth drank him in.

  Robert was both unchanged, and yet different.

  He had the same flowing hair and short beard, the same piercing brown eyes. Clad in a mail shirt and thick leather braies, a heavy fur mantle about his shoulders, he was every inch the warrior she remembered. Yet his face was altered—thinner, more careworn, his eyes hollowed from fatigue. There were also flecks of silver in his hair and beard that hadn’t been there years earlier.

  Robert stared up at her, his gaze as searing as she remembered. Yet he didn’t smile, didn’t exclaim at the sight of her.

  Pushing aside the uneasiness that stole over her, Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath, gathering her courage.

  Goose … he’s yer husband. What do ye have to be nervous about?

  And yet she was.

  “Robert,” she murmured his name—and then she moved, taking the next few steps toward him, while he did the same, alighting the last steps till they collided.

  Elizabeth’s bre
athing caught as his arms went about her. Clasping him close, she realized that underneath his mail shirt, leather vest, and lèine, he was as lean and wiry as a hunting hound.

  The man she’d seen off that fateful day over eight years earlier had been broad and muscular. The English clearly had been starving him.

  Tears welled, hot and stinging, and Elizabeth’s vision blurred. She squeezed him tight, as if to make sure he was real and not merely a figment of her imagination.

  Her voice came out in a whisper. “Rob … is it really ye?”

  “Aye, Liz.” That voice—how she’d missed it, dreamed of it. The low timbre, the slight gravelly edge. It had haunted her dreams. “Ye still smell of lilies.”

  Elizabeth smiled through her tears. She’d always worn oil perfumed with the scented leaves of lily—a perfume she remembered Robert loving.

  All those years ago, when they’d been young and carefree.

  Drawing back, Elizabeth brushed away her tears and raised her chin to meet her husband’s gaze.

  He stared down at her, a strange, almost pained expression upon his face. “Ye haven’t changed at all,” he murmured. Did she imagine it, or was there a note of reserve in his voice? “Whereas, I fear I’m not the man ye remember.”

  “Nonsense,” she scoffed, even if the look he was giving her put Elizabeth on edge. It wasn’t true she hadn’t changed. Whenever she caught a glimpse of her reflection these days in the looking glass, she thought how tired she looked. “Ye are thinner than I remember,” she continued, nervousness making her tongue run away with her, “but just as handsome.” Elizabeth stepped back from him. She wanted to catch his hand, entwine her fingers through his, but suddenly felt too nervous to do so. “Come up to the solar, and I’ll have some supper brought up to ye.”