Today, I'm sharing with you the prologue of my new novel--Conquered by the Highlander! I'm so thrilled for this book. It is the first in a spin-off series from the Stolen Brides. You'll remember meeting Gabriel in the Prequel, The Highlander's Temptation, and now he has his very own story!
Enjoy :)
ABOUT THE BOOK...
After losing his betrothed to a
Lowlander, Laird Gabriel MacKinnon is charged with saving her cousin along with
a brood of children from an impenetrable castle. Though, the lady he’s been
tasked to protect has been accused of a heinous crime, Gabriel has no fear of
her. In fact, he’s a little irritated at the prospect of delivering her to her
kin. But this hardened, cold warrior just may find his heart melting, for the
hellion brings out a passionate side he’d thought long buried.
A lady who will stop at
nothing to see him fail...
Lady Brenna has had more than her share
of hardships and when freedom looks to be on the brink of her horizon, she’s
not about to let some moody Highlander take it all away. She’ll stop at nothing
to keep her children safe—and to guard her heart—even though the warrior’s
heated kiss threatens to change every vow she’s ever made and every belief
about love she’s ever known.
EXCERPT:
Prologue
~*~*~*~*~
Isle of Skye
Scorrybreac Castle
October, 1290
SHE should have
eaten her supper.
A
lass who disobeyed her elders would be punished. And now it seemed Brenna MacNeacail
had brought the devil into their house. Mama and Da would surely blame her for
it.
Huddling
with her sister, Kirstin, in the nursery, she watched their governess, Meg,
shove a chest in front of the door with every ounce of strength she had. Sweat
beaded on her upper lip and her gray-streaked hair fell limply from her bun.
From
below, they could hear screams and crashes as a battle raged inside their walls.
Less than an hour had passed since the castle had been swarmed by enemy
warriors and the warning bells of a siege had tolled. Just over an hour had
passed since Meg had sworn Brenna would bring hellfire upon them for her wicked
temperament. But what lass would eat lamb’s tongue? Brenna was certain the
unsightly fare had been Meg’s way of revenge since Brenna had put a toad under
her pillow.
And
now hellfire had come.
Kirstin
shivered, her lip trembling. Her sister’s fear pulled Brenna back to the
present. At any moment, Kirstin would break out into great sobs. Sobs that would
pull the attention of the warrior devils up to the nursery. They’d hack them to
death. That’s what enemies did. They killed everyone. Brenna didn’t want that.
Of the two of them, Brenna was definitely the strongest. And she should be, she
was born first. From the moment they’d left the womb, Brenna had been
protective of her sister.
At twelve
years old, she was practically a lady already, though she wouldn’t have minded
being a warrior. Da had seen to it that she was fierce and that she could wield
a weapon, given it was the right size for her tiny frame.
Meg
finished moving the chest, her heavy bosom heaving from her labored breaths.
Swiping a meaty palm over her face, she turned in a circle then began shoving a
table across the room, the sound of the legs scraping on the wooden planks
drowning out the noises of the fighting below.
“Shh,”
Brenna cooed, trying to calm her sister. She tucked Kirstin’s head against her
shoulder and stroked her back. “Ye dinna want them to hear us.”
Kirstin
nodded, biting her lip. She clung to Brenna, just as they’d most likely clung
in the womb. Mama was lucky to survive their births, as Brenna had been told
time and again that it was a very difficult experience, and the reason Mama had
not had any other children.
As
such, Brenna and Kirstin were the heirs to the entire MacNeacail holdings and
fortune. A vast one, if father didn’t say so himself. Though their lands were
not as far-reaching as some other clans, their treasury was filled with coin
and various other assets.
“Girls,
quit your fussing and help,” Meg puffed, red-faced, as she lifted a chair on
top of the table.
Brenna
stood and gently tugged Kirstin up. “What should we do?”
“Help
me bar the door.”
Brenna
straightened and shook her head, her gaze roving over the haphazard pile.
“Nay.”
Meg
looked shocked and then glowered, putting heavy hands on her hips. “What? Do ye
want to die then?”
“We
need to escape, not bar ourselves in and wait for the devils to come knocking.”
Brenna spoke with authority and sense, two things Meg hated.
Their
governess eyed her the way she always did, like she was trying to read Brenna’s
mind to find a way to knock her down. “How would ye have us escape? Through the
door I’ve just barred?”
Brenna
chewed her lip. Father had made her promise never to tell about the secret
passage in their chamber that led down to the water gate. This was an emergency,
though, and she knew he’d not be upset if she told Meg now.
“Through
the laird’s passageway.”
Meg
scoffed. “The laird’s passageway? Rubbish. Get the other chair afore I cuff
your ear.” Meg turned her back, hauling another piece of furniture toward her
pile.
Kirstin
gripped on to Brenna’s hand and stared at her with wide blue eyes. Brenna
couldn’t let her sister down. Couldn’t let anyone down. She’d already gotten in
to trouble once—all right, twice—today. That was enough.
“Come
on, Kirstin,” she said, ignoring Meg. She led her sister to the far corner of
the room, behind their dressing screen.
“Brenna
MacNeacail, ye little scamp!” Meg called.
They
could hear their governess’ pounding feet crossing the room. If she caught up
to them before Brenna opened the secret door, Meg would surely tan their hides
and they’d never be able to escape.
Brenna
shoved against the small table with their washbasin on it, knocking the bowl to
the ground where it clattered but did not break.
“Brenna…”
Kirstin wailed. “I’m scared.”
“All
will be well,” Brenna said, repeating the words her mother always said to
soothe Kirstin. “I’ll keep ye safe.”
With
quick fingers she pressed along the stones, looking for the one that was weaker
than the rest. The pads of her fingertips grew raw from her frantic searching. Finally
she found it, shoving hard, but she wasn’t strong enough.
“Kirstin,
help me.”
Four
hands pressed to the stone and the girls shoved with all their might against
it. Sweat started to form on her brow from the exertion of it, and when it
finally gave way, Meg wrenched Kirstin’s arm snapping her backward.
“Kirstin!”
Brenna turned around and glared angrily at their governess. “We need to escape.
If ye want to stay that is your choice, but I demand ye let go of my sister.”
Meg’s
eyes narrowed, her puffy cheeks gone nearly purple with rage. “Just who do ye
think ye are? The laird hired me on to keep ye in line and even when death is
upon us, ye would defy me.”
Meg
reached for Brenna, but she backed away, pressing against the secret door she’d
just unlatched, revealing the darkened tunnel beyond.
“I’m
the MacNeacail’s daughter. My da hired ye as our governess and ye have a duty
to protect us as well as teach us. Dinna be a fool, Meg. The best chance we
have is to escape.”
Meg’s
mouth fell open in surprise as she gaped at the passageway beyond. “Apologies,
my lady,” she murmured. “I didna realize this passage existed. Let us go.”
Brenna
grabbed hold of Kirstin’s hand and ran into the dark. Meg brought a lit candle,
closing the door behind them. And it appeared to be just in time. Beyond the
door, she could hear the banging of axes as their chamber door was chopped down
and the crash of Meg’s pile as the men entered.
“We
need to hurry. They will find us,” Brenna said. “’Tis only a matter of time.”
Meg
held the candle high. “Do ye know where to go?”
“Aye.
Da showed me.”
They
walked briskly down the stairs, Brenna and Kirstin holding tight to each
other’s hands as they went, their free fists wrapped in their skirts to pull
the hem away from their boots. With every breath she took, she expected to hear
the sounds of the men above discovering the secret tunnel. And though she did
occasionally hear a bang that made her jump, no one marched through the door.
No one called their names, shouted for them to stop. No one grabbed hold of
them.
Hands
outstretched, and only seeing a foot or two in front of her, Brenna touched the
dead-end of the tunnel. All she had to do was find the right stone that would
press the wall outward. It was higher than she thought, just out of reach.
Blast her tiny frame. Her mother, too, was small and while her da had always
found their slight forms to be sweet, Brenna found it a hindrance.
“I’ve
got it, lass.” Meg, who had at least six inches on the girls’ heights, pushed
the stone until it clicked.
They
eased the door open, the scent of the salty firth a relief. They’d made it to
the water gate. Now all they needed was to take a currach, one of the tiny row boats, and paddle away from
Scorrybreac. That was their only chance for survival.
“Where
will we go?” Meg asked, fear filling her eyes.
“We’ll
need to sail east to the MacKinnons. They are allies of our da.”
“What
if it’s the MacKinnons who’ve attacked?”
Brenna
felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She’d not thought of that. Searching
her memory, she tried to see if she could recognize any of those who’d
attacked, but from the window in their nursery and the dark of night, she’d not
been able to make out the color of their plaids. “Then we are dead anyway.”
With
a curt nod, Meg ushered the two of them down the watery stairs toward the gate
and, beyond that, to where several currachs
lay on the rocky shore.
They
were nearly to the quay. Meg bade them wait as she stepped out from the
protection of the stairs. Only a second passed before Meg cried out in pain,
stumbling forward. The torch clattered across the natural stone surface of the
water gate as Meg fell forward. Brenna stared wide-eyed at the blood seeping
through the back of her governess’ gown. She’d been stabbed through. Shoving
her sister into a crevice in the rocks, she said, “Stay here. Be silent.”
Recklessly,
Brenna ran toward Meg’s body, seeing a lad not yet a man, but older than a boy,
standing just beyond where they could see from the stairs. “Ye killed her!” she
cried.
He
shrugged. “She was going to take ye away.”
Rage,
pure and raw, filled her. “Aye! What of it?”
The
lad pointed his sword in her direction, squaring off, and puffing out his
chest. “I cannot allow that to happen. This castle will be mine one day, along
with all of its inhabitants.”
“Go
away! Ye’re not welcome here!”
The
lad laughed and directed his sword at Brenna’s throat. “On the contrary, ’tis
ye that is no longer welcome here. But I’ll make an exception seeing as how ye’re
to be my wife.”
“Wife?”
She was not old enough to be anyone’s wife. She’d not yet had her menses. A
betrothal contract must have been what the boy meant. She’d not be well and
truly wed for several years to come, which would give her time to escape if
needed.
But
Kirstin… Brenna chewed her lip and forced herself not to look behind her to be
sure her sister was still hiding.
The
lad nodded, his face contorting into something of an evil grin. “Aye. Now that
Chief MacNeacail and his wife are dead, ye are the only one left.”
Her
mother and father were dead.
She
was the only one left.
The
only one.
He’d
not seen Kirstin. Didn’t know about her. Brenna sent up a prayer that at least Kirstin
could escape, even if she had to sacrifice herself for a time and go with this
fiend.
Still,
she tried to negotiate, all while swallowing down the bile of fear and guilt.
Meg’s death was on her. Her parents’ death was on her. She’d never forgive
herself for causing such mayhem. She’d never disobey an order again. If only
God would let her escape this sinister lad. “What does that have to do with
anything? Ye’ve seized this place. Let me go.”
“Nay,
lass. Ye’re coming with me.”
Brenna
shook her head, but she dared not move backward in case the lad advanced on her
and saw her sister in the crevice.
The
lad poked her neck with the tip of his sword and pain radiated from the spot.
She felt a warm trickle of blood running down her neck, but still she remained
strong.
Brenna
held out her hands in supplication, sending a prayer up to heaven to receive
her if that was the Lord’s plan. “Why do ye not just kill me?”
The
lad shrugged—a nonchalant, uncaring act that made her rage further. The lad
could care less that he’d killed her governess, that his men had killed her
parents and countless others. It wasn’t important to him. She was important.
Life was not important. Her blood chilled.
“Father’s
orders.”
Brenna
swallowed around the icy lump growing in her throat. “Who is your father?” she
croaked.
“The
MacLeod.”
From
what Brenna had understood, the MacLeod’s had been trying to get their hands on
her clan’s land for decades. She didn’t know why. No one had shared that bit of
information with her. Seemed they had finally gotten their way.
Thrusting
her chin out, she said, “Our allies will avenge my family’s murder.”
The
lad laughed. “Doubtful. All of Scotland is rife with unrest. The little queen
has died. Have ye not heard?”
All
the blood drained from Brenna’s face. If Queen Margaret, only slightly younger
than herself, was dead, then indeed there would be unrest as no one would know
who to name next to the throne. Why would they care about a small clan on the
Isle of Skye when all of Scotland was up for the taking?
She
may very well be without a friend in the world.
Her
only chance was if Kirstin could escape, but her sister was so weak… She’d
never survive in the wild on her own. If Brenna left her here, she might as
well sentence her sister to death, but if she told this vile boy… He might kill
her, too. She had to strike a bargain.
Folding
her hands in front of her, Brenna attempted to look meek, but the sounds of
boots pounding on stone through the tunnel she’d just come from startled her.
The secret door was thrust open and her cousin, Finn, stepped through—not much
older than the lad in front of her.
“Brenna!”
The
vile lad grabbed her elbow, yanked her against him, and wrapped his arm around
her ribs squeezing tight, his sword pressed hard to her throat.
“Leave
or I kill her,” he ordered.
Finn
growled, pulling his sword from his scabbard. She was certain that if he tried,
he could dispatch of the MacLeod lad, but not before her enemy slit her throat.
“Kirstin,
go with Finn. Protect her.”
Kirstin
slipped from the stones and shook her head. “Nay, Brenna. Not without ye.”
“There
are two of ye?” MacLeod growled.
Risking
his wrath, she stiffened. “Nay, there is only one of me,” Brenna said. “Go!
Finn, please!”
“I
cannot leave ye,” Finn said, his face contorted in indecision, for he must have
known there was truly only one option.
Brenna
locked her eyes on his, imploring. “Ye must. ’Tis her only chance.”
“And
what of ye?” Moisture gathered in her cousin’s eyes.
The
MacLeod boy pressed the sword harder to her neck, bringing a sting of tears.
“Take the little bitch with ye else I cut off this one’s head. Dinna think I
won’t!”
“Brenna,”
Kirstin sobbed, her entire body shaking. She reached toward her, but Brenna
shook her head.
“Be
strong, sister. Ye must. There is no other way. One of us must escape this.”
Kirstin
rushed forward, arms outstretched, which had MacLeod reacting violently, his
sword flinging away from Brenna’s neck and toward her sister. Finn grasped Kirstin
around the waist yanking her back, just before the tip of the sword could
pierce her skin.
“Go!”
Brenna shouted. “Go, now!”
Finn
grabbed hold of Kirstin’s hand and dragged her, sobbing, toward the quay. Finn
would protect her with his life, she knew that, and at least now her sister had
a chance at freedom. Brenna shivered, for she was certainly doomed to a
lifetime of suffering.
The
boy laughed against her ear. “Ye’re mine now. And dinna doubt, those two will
not taste freedom for long.”
Brenna
pressed her lips together, holding back her sobs, resigned to her fate. Finn
and Kirstin had to make it. They just had to.
The
boy dragged her up the water gate stairs, through the small courtyard at the
north side of the castle and through the door that led to the kitchens. They crossed
the empty kitchen and into the great hall.
Sobs
sounded throughout the castle as servants checked on the dead and cleaned up
the mess. Blood stained the wood planks of the floor. The bodies of MacNeacail
warriors lay lifeless, eyes gaping, mouths slack.
Brenna
closed her eyes from the sight, relieved she’d not seen her parents, and not
wanting to see them should she spot them after all.
Though
she’d seen plenty of servants look woefully her way, none had tried to save
her. And she didn’t expect them to.
“Who’s
this?” an older man grunted.
“Brenna.”
“Daughter
of MacNeacail?”
“Aye,
Father.”
Brenna
did open her eyes then to see the man who’d brought carnage to her home. She
vowed that from this day forth, she would never forget his face, and one day,
she’d smile over his dead body.
The
chief called over his shoulder, “Get the priest. They marry today. Now.”
Wed?
A priest? This was not a betrothal, but a marriage in truth. Brenna’s mouth
fell open to protest, but the lad pinched her hard when he sensed her action,
and then whispered, “Be lucky that ’tis I he will marry ye to as the old man is
without a wife himself.”
She
clamped her lips closed, fully aware that she was accepting the lesser of two
evils.
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