Highland Jewel--A Royal Highlander Novel Read online

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  To Christa Soulé Désir …

  For the wit and insight and compassion that make us better writers.

  And to Eileen Rothschild …

  For helping us to spread our wings.

  PROLOGUE

  Brunswick Palace

  December 1794

  Caroline stared down at a carriage that had been brought around from the stables. A driver and groom were cloaked and muffled against the miserable weather. Two trunks had been secured on top; they appeared to be taking someone on a journey.

  The time had not yet arrived, but soon a carriage would be waiting to take her as well. From one prison to the next. From Brunswick Palace to St. James’s Palace.

  Princess Caroline Amelia Elizabeth of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel turned her gaze to the town’s red roofs, stretching off into the distance beyond the 326 spiked iron bars of the fence at the end of the palace courtyard. Icy rain had been falling for an eternity, and the Oker River lay like a sluggish grey snake beyond the leafless trees.

  Rousseau said that man was born free but was everywhere in chains. This cold, loveless palace was her home. But it was also her prison. From the moment Caroline took her first breath, she’d been bound with gilded chains. Growing up, she was watched. Herded about like a prize sheep. Berated and chastised bitterly if she were to try to speak to a commoner or, God forbid, a man. She’d been educated to please others. Dressed to please others. Persecuted to please others.

  Be silent. Submit.

  Though she’d struggled to resist, her shackles still weighed her down. Her life wasn’t her own. Her mind wasn’t her own. Her future wasn’t her own. She was living the desperate existence of a convict.

  Still, there was no other place she wished to be. Nowhere else she wished to go. It crushed her to think of it. But go she would, when they decided on the date. To England. Married off to her first cousin, a man who already had a wife.

  Those details have all been worked out. The woman will be gone and forgotten long before you arrive. Her mother’s cold assertion was a nail raked across slate.

  Gone and forgotten. What kind of man simply dismissed and forgot a woman he’d been attached to for years? The knowledge only added to her disgust for the English prince. A drunken whoremonger. A notorious wastrel. Marrying her only because his Parliament promised to pay his debts. And when he had what he wanted, she too would be deserted and forgotten.

  Caroline’s fate would be no different from her older sister’s. Poor Augusta, married off to the prince of Wurttemberg. Abandoned in St. Petersburg after giving her husband two children. And then found dead. Most likely murdered.

  No questions were asked by the family. Augusta did her duty, Caroline, as you will do yours. Her mother’s words echoed off the walls the day she announced the tragic news.

  Her duty. She was nothing more than a pawn in her parents’ game of self-advancement. Caroline’s past and her secret marriage, the death of the only man she’d ever loved, and the well-hidden fact that she had a son had all been buried within the cold, marble halls of Brunswick Palace.

  Her marriage to the future king of England was the “brilliant” match the duchess had been scheming for. Augusta Guelph, sister of King George III of England, wanted her claws and influence back on the English throne. And the union of the two houses raised her family’s status to the greatest heights.

  Caroline was another sacrifice on the altar of their ambition.

  The door opened and closed behind her. Caroline stared out at the gleaming iron bars. She knew who it was, and she didn’t turn to greet her mother. No one else entered without knocking. Only her prison guard.

  “It’s time,” the Duchess of Brunswick said curtly. “The English delegation is en route. You must be prepared to go when they arrive.”

  “As you wish.”

  Caroline turned and faced the duchess, who stood as still and lifeless as a statue. The battles she’d fought, the tears she’d shed, the words she’d pleaded were all behind her. In this very room, she’d been berated, crushed, and silenced.

  “I’ll do as you wish,” Caroline repeated, trying to keep her emotions in check. Her voice threatened to break. “But you must live up to your promise. You must take care of my son.”

  Her mother’s face showed no change. No hint of what she was thinking or feeling. If she felt anything at all.

  “I shall do with him as I see fit.”

  “You promised to keep Cinaed at Brunswick Palace. You promised to raise him in a manner befitting his parentage.”

  “I said no such thing. All I promised was that the boy will live.”

  “Live?” Caroline snapped. “He is no sheep to be slaughtered. He is my son. Mine. And regardless of all the lies you’ve told about my ‘unblemished’ past, I can end this engagement you’ve arranged the moment your visitors arrive. I’ll tell the delegation from England that I was married and I have a son. I’ll tell them that Cinaed is the direct descendent of—”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” The duchess’s voice rang through the room, her eyes flashing like red coals in her heavily powdered face. “I own him as I own you. Do you know how easy it is to end a four-year-old’s life?”

  She wouldn’t dare, but Caroline’s entire body stiffened. Her hands formed claws to tear out the woman’s eyes.

  “A push down the stairs. A plate of food tainted with a drop of poison. A fall from a boat. If you fight me now, Cinaed will meet a far worse fate than the one planned for him. And he wouldn’t be the first, as you well know.”

  Caroline could say what she might. She could fight her with words, with her pleas. But the invisible chains she’d had been bound with for her entire life rattled and bit into her flesh. Her shoulders sagged. She knew what her mother was capable of.

  “My son will live. You said he’ll live,” she repeated, weighed down with defeat. “You must assure me he’ll be safe.”

  Her mother said nothing for a moment. Caroline forced herself to wait. Fighting her only made the older woman lash out more. Her disobedience would only result in more suffering for her sweet child. Finally, the duchess broke the silence.

  “I’ll regret these maternal feelings of mine. But I came up here to give you the chance to say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye?” She followed the duchess’s gaze to the door into the adjoining room.

  The cold panic of understanding washed through her. She knew this time would eventually come. The day when they would be separated. But this was too soon.

  Caroline felt the air being squeezed from her body. “Where? Where are you sending him?”

  “Scotland.”

  Scotland. The land of his father. Caroline moved as if in a dream to the door. Her heart ached so badly that she feared it would stop beating.

  In the next room, she found her beloved boy standing beside A
nne Mackintosh. They were both wearing traveling cloaks. Anne was a spinster, a friend, a woman of integrity who’d joined her entourage in the days when Caroline was with child, after she’d been torn from her husband’s arms and dragged back to Brunswick Palace.

  Anne knew the truth. She knew who’d fathered Cinaed. At least, she was the one taking him away.

  Small hands tugged at Caroline’s skirts. “Are you sending me away?”

  She crouched and pulled Cinaed into her arms. She couldn’t find the words to explain the curse of her life to her son.

  “We both must go.”

  “You’ll come with me?”

  His large blue eyes were fixed on her face. Tears Caroline would not allow to fall in her mother’s presence now ran freely down her cheeks. Sharp claws clutched at her throat.

  She kissed her son’s face, speaking only to him. “No, but I’ll come and see you. I’ll come for you.”

  “I don’t want to go.” Arms clung to her neck. The child buried his face against her breast. “Please, Mama. Keep me with you. I love you. Keep me. Please!”

  Tears turned to sobs. Caroline searched for words. “We don’t have a choice, my love.”

  “I want to go with you.” The arms tightened more, the young voice growing louder. “I’ll be good!”

  She motioned to Anne, and the Scotswoman pried the child from her arms. Cinaed screamed, fought to get back to her, but Anne handed him to an attendant at the door who quickly left with him.

  “I’ll come for you,” Caroline repeated again and again. Hearing her son’s cries move down the hallway, she felt something die inside her. It wasn’t her heart, for that had already been torn from her chest. But she felt something else shrivel and wither away to nothing.

  “I have to leave. He’ll be better once we’re on the road.” Anne touched Caroline’s shoulder and moved toward the door.

  “Wait!”

  From inside her dress, Caroline drew out a chain and ripped it from her neck. A ring dangled from it, and she thrust it into Anne’s hands.

  “Keep this for him, please,” she gasped. “Keep him safe. And tell him … tell him I’ll come for him.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Dalmigavie Castle, the Highlands

  August 1820

  Far above jagged crags and worn peaks, a hawk soared free, floating on the breeze beneath the pale azure sky. Below, a glistening stream snaked through steep-sided glens, protected by thick stands of tall pine. Above the flowing waters, an impregnable stone fortress sat high on a rocky brae.

  Dalmigavie Castle. Built by a warrior clan, its thick grey walls and high towers had struck fear into the hearts of the fiercest enemies for half a millennium. To the south and east, the majestic mountains of the Scottish Highlands rose like an unbroken line of ancient warriors, standing eternal guard. Beyond the forests to the west, endless hills and valleys, impassable rivers, and the great loch that cut the Highlands in two, keeping the enemy at bay. And to the north, a single path led from the sea, half a day distant. Ever since human feet trod this stony soil, it had been a track that no enemy would dare attempt, for no army had blood enough to spill on the rugged hillsides of the Highlands.

  Dalmigavie Castle, the perfect place to keep the dream of Scotland alive. A fortress to protect Cinaed Mackintosh, the man called the “son of Scotland.”

  Maisie Murray leaned over the edge of the stone parapet of the ancient tower, stared to the south and the range of mountains in the distance, and thought of her life as it was now, and the man she’d left behind in Edinburgh. Lieutenant Niall Campbell.

  Sadness, like a fist, squeezed her heart. More than four months had passed since she’d last seen him. Maisie would never forget their last day together in his rooms at Milne’s Court. She loved him and believed he loved her too, regardless of what he’d said after. His departing words put a painful end to all of their dreams.

  I’ll not be coming back. You are free of the promises we made. You must forget me.

  Never. To forget him was to forsake hope, to surrender all belief in tomorrow, to accept that she was to be deprived of love for the rest of her life. He was the first man she’d offered her heart to, and he’d be the last.

  Maisie wondered where he was now. She shook with fear, thinking that he hadn’t survived the things he was being forced to do. Not knowing what his mission was or where he had to go was crushing. Tears threatened to fall, and she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of pine and heather. She wouldn’t give up. No mourning, Maisie told herself. He was only lost. He’d be found again. She was certain of it. She forced herself to believe it.

  Her gaze was drawn to a hawk, wheeling in the blue sky far above her.

  The sounds of children playing in the courtyard below mingled with the hammering of the smith at his forge and pulled Maisie’s attention back to the life around her. This was her new world. She could now only dream of Niall and her old existence. She’d found her voice on the streets of Edinburgh. She’d marched and protested and spoken out against the unjust treatment of the Scottish people. Against the hated Corn Laws, Parliament’s oppressive response to famine and chronic unemployment. The horrid economic conditions and the lack of universal suffrage in Scotland needed to be fought. The people had risen, and she’d been there on the front lines, speaking at gatherings and spreading the word with her pen.

  Here in the Highlands, she was still finding her way, but she was using the sharp, concise power of the written word to fight for her cause. She was writing articles and letters that were finding publishers in Edinburgh and Inverness. She would not let go of her convictions in this new world, no matter how far off her old life seemed.

  The sound of footsteps running up the stone steps behind her drew Maisie to the top of the stairwell. It was Morrigan. The two of them had arrived at Dalmigavie together. Sisters, not by blood, but by choice and by family relations.

  “They’re here.” Morrigan’s long, dark hair glinted in the sunlight.

  “Who’s here?”

  Breathless, she pushed by Maisie and moved to the parapet. “The men coming from the Borders. The ones who everyone has been waiting for.”

  Maisie stood beside Morrigan as she leaned out, scanning the courtyard. For days, the air had been crackling with a mixture of threat and expectation. British forces were after the son of Scotland. The threat of an attack on the castle or the possibility of an assassination attempt on Cinaed’s life had kept everyone on edge. At the same time, a delegation was coming from the Borders. Maisie had no idea what the arrival of those people meant, or what they were to bring with them. But the Mackintosh clan folk were talking about the messengers as if they were messiahs.

  “Look.” Morrigan pointed.

  Maisie leaned over the edge and saw the group approaching the entry to the Great Hall.

  Beneath her, Cinaed stepped out into the courtyard, and Blair Mackintosh crossed the open space to take his usual protective place beside him. Searc Mackintosh, a cousin to the laird, led the three visitors, and the clan chief was speaking with one of them, a burly, well-dressed gentleman.

  Maisie’s gaze was instantly drawn to one of the other newcomers. The wide brim of his hat shadowed his face, but there was something about the confident steps, the motion of his hand as he talked. The broad shoulders. His impressive height. Awareness flashed through her, and Maisie’s heart skipped a beat.

  It couldn’t be. She walked along the edge of the tower, following the men’s steps below. Morrigan’s voice was silenced by the loud drumming of Maisie’s heart. She stared, afraid to blink. Afraid he would disappear. It couldn’t be.

  The men stopped before entering the keep. The visitor pulled off his hat, and Maisie forgot to breathe.

  “What’s wrong?” Morrigan clutched her arm. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged.

  Niall was here.

  Recognition triggered a rush of emotion.
He was no ghost. He’d come. She laughed and threw her arms around Morrigan and whirled her around wildly.

  “What are you doing?”

  There was no time to explain. She had to get to him. Spinning on her heel, Maisie raced across the top of the tower, leaving Morrigan calling after her. In an instant, she was running down the dark stone stairwell, made even darker by the bright sunlight she’d left behind.

  Niall was here. That meant his sister Fiona must be free. He’d come for her. Their promises to each other were still alive. He loved her.

  At the foot of the steps, Maisie ran along the corridors to the Great Hall, searching for them. Her doubts and fears were gone. She was again the same woman who’d run through the streets of Edinburgh that winter day, a lifetime ago, wearing no boots or coat, holding her heart in her hand, offering herself to him body and soul.

  They weren’t in the Great Hall.

  “The visitors? Where are they?” she asked a Mackintosh fighter she’d seen shadowing the group.

  “The laird’s study, miss.”

  She hurried to the closed door. Voices drifted through. Niall’s deep voice was as familiar as the wind through the leaves, as the rolling thunder of an approaching summer storm. The last of her doubts disappeared. Nearly unfathomable joy bathed her with its warmth. She raised her fist, ready to knock.

  “Maisie. What’s wrong?”

  She jumped at the sound of her sister’s voice. Isabella stood a few steps away, silhouetted by the light coming from the courtyard. Maisie blinked, realizing she’d been standing in a cloak of fog. The air thinned. The mist lifted and a chill prickled down her back. A dark reality reemerged, choking her. Her sister, the physician. The woman who’d sacrificed so much on all of their behalves. Her family. Maisie’s eyes burned. Her throat closed. Isabella, who finally for the first time was living as she chose to live, and not acting because of what she saw as her duty. Isabella, who was newly married to a man whom she deeply loved and was worthy of her.