Ravished By The Iron Highlander (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Read online

  Ravished by the Iron Highlander

  A Historical Scottish Romance Novel

  Maddie MacKenna

  Contents

  A Gift from the Highlands

  Scottish Brogue Glossary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Preview: Mesmerized by a Roguish Highlander

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Also by Maddie MacKenna

  About the Author

  A Gift from the Highlands

  Thank you very much for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love and support!

  As a way to show you my gratitude, I have written a full length novel for you, called Highlander’s Untamed Bride. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping the image below or this link here.

  Once again, I can’t thank you enough for your support!

  Maddie MacKenna

  Scottish Brogue Glossary

  Here is a very useful glossary my good friend and fellow author Lydia Kendall sent to me, that will help you better understand the Scottish Brogue used:

  aboot - about

  ach - oh

  afore - before

  an' - and

  anythin - anything

  a'side - beside

  askin' - asking

  a'tween - between

  auld - old

  aye - yes

  bampot - a jerk

  bare bannock- a type of biscuit

  bearin' - bearing

  beddin' - bedding or sleeping with

  bellend - a vulgar slang word

  blethering - blabbing

  blootered - drunk

  bonnie - beautiful or pretty

  bonniest - prettiest

  cannae - cannot

  chargin' - charging

  cheesin' - happy

  clocked - noticed

  c'mon- come on

  couldn'ae - couldn't

  coupla - couple of

  crivens - hell

  cuddie - idiot

  dae - do

  dinin' - dining

  dinnae - didn't or don't

  disnae - doesn't

  dobber - idiot

  doesn'ae - doesn't

  dolton - idiot

  doon - down

  dram - a measure of whiskey

  efter - after

  eh' - right

  'ere - here

  fer - for

  frein - friend

  fey - from

  gae - get or give

  git - a contemptible person

  gonnae - going to

  greetin' - dying

  hae - have

  hald - hold

  haven'ae - haven't

  heed - head

  heedstart - head start

  hid - had

  hoovered - gobbled

  intoxicated - drunk

  kip - rest

  lass - young girl

  leavin - leaving

  legless - drunk

  me - my

  nae - not

  no' - not

  noo - now

  nothin' - nothing,

  oan - on

  o' - of

  Och - an Olympian spirit who rules the sun

  oot- out

  packin- packing

  pished - drunk

  scooby - clue

  scran - food

  shite - shit

  sittin' - sitting

  so's - so as

  somethin' - something

  soonds ' sounds

  stonking - stinking

  tae - to

  teasin' - teasing

  thrawn - perverse, ill-tempered

  tryin' - trying

  wallops - idiot

  wee -small

  wheest - talking

  whit's - what's

  wi'- with

  wid - would

  wisnae - was not

  withoot - without

  wouldnae - wouldn't

  ya - you

  ye - you

  yea - yes

  ye'll - you'll

  yer - your

  yerself - yourself

  ye're - you're

  ye've - you've

  About the Book

  Their love was a durable fire, in the mind ever burning…

  Punished by her brother for refusing to marry a man twice her age, Isabella Dellendine is sent to live with her aunt near the Scottish border. A situation almost as agonizing as her father’s death.

  Severely wounded and with war raging around him, Duncan Goreidh, Laird of Brynkirk, has but one choice if he wants to survive: to disguise himself as a British soldier. Rescued at the last minute by an old English lady, his plans to flee home are ruined when he meets her irresistible niece.

  Their love is forbidden, but their meeting was not a coincidence.

  With Isabella’s presence turning his own flesh and blood against him, Duncan finds himself short of allies. And ways to protect her. An old vendetta started by his kin returns from the grave to haunt them, and it comes with a price. For whose fault is it, when you invite death into your own house?

  1

  Northern England

  “Pardon me!” Isabella Dellendine exclaimed. She was sure that she had not heard her brother right. It was either that, or her brother had lost his God-given mind. “I’m to do what?”

  “Stop acting obtuse, sister,” Ralf sneered. “It does not suit you. I said, and as my word is law in this house, you will marry Lord Lofter. After all, aren’t married ties better bonds to conduct business with?”

  Isabella’s golden eyes narrowed, “Your business doings are not any affairs of mine. I will not marry that Baron,” she spun to leave but her brother grabbed her arm tightly and her head snapped back to him. “Let me go.”

  “You are too headstrong, sister,” Ralf snapped, his golden eyes glowing like a snake ready to strike. “Father gave you too much latitude to do what you wanted. He should have made your marriage betrothal long ago. You are nearly twenty now. I know women who marry at the age of sixteen. And yes, my business does affect your affairs. How do you think you can live in such luxury? Father’s investments are drying up, I have to find some way to keep this estate afloat and you marrying Lofter is it.”

  “Let me go,” Isabella ordered again. “I don’t care if the man is richer than Midas himself, I will not marry him. He is three times my age and is rumored to have more women than an Arabian harem. He listens to no one but himself.”

  “About that,” Ralf jerked her arm, “do not try to give the man advice on his business when you know nothing about it ever again.
Lord Lofter had a right to overrule you. Father was wrong when he spoke of business with you in the room. He spoiled you and gave you airs that you have no right to have. A woman lets men speak without interruption. But you don’t know that, do you?”

  Yanking her arm out of his slightly loosened grip, Isabella looked at her brother, five years her senior, with pity, “A woman is not a dog you can order around, Brother, but you don’t know that, do you? I will not marry him.”

  “You will marry him. Do you hear me, Sister? Your foolishness will not ruin all my plans. I could force you, you know. I don’t need your approval or so-called permission to marry you off. I could just bring the priest here and then my hands are washed off from you.”

  “If you dare do that Father would strike you from the grave,” Isabella said tightly.

  “But…” Ralf grated, “I will have you come to know the meaning of sense and duty. On the morrow, I will send you to Aunt Matilda. She will knock some sense into you!”

  Not giving her brother another look, she spun and hastened to her room, the curtain of her waist-length dark brown hair fluttering behind her. She shoved the door closed, grabbed the back of a chair with both hands and swallowed down the urge to scream her frustration.

  Who was this man she termed her brother? Ralf had become a man she did not know. With his neighbors and friends he was a delight but when it came to her, he was a terror. Never having a kind word or a kind look, he always snapped, scoffed or ordered her around. There were days when she wished their father had taken her to the grave with him than allow her to live under her brother’s controlling hand.

  She bit her lip tightly as her eyes clenched. Tears burned behind her eyes but she would never let them fall. The touch of a wet nose to her thigh, made her open her eyes to see her dog, Bandit, an Irish wolfhound nosing at her dress.

  The huge golden-haired dog that was as high as her waist, came to her. His large, soulful brown eyes were looking up at her with pure love. If only that same emotion came from her brother. She went to sit on the edge of her bed and Bandit came with her. Fondling his ears, she remembered the day she had found him.

  She was six and playing with her favorite rag doll in a garden while her mother pruned some rose bushes. Her mother had called her over to see a flower but as she went to her side, something dragged her doll away. She spun to see a large puppy with the doll in his fangs and gnawing at it while looking at her with large innocent eyes. What other name could she have given him but Bandit? Thirteen years later, he was still by her side.

  “Did you hear that, Bandit, my brother is sending me away to get some sense knocked into me, all because I won’t marry the man he wants me to marry,” Isabella sighed and combed her hands through his soft fur. “I might be dependent on him but I will not bow to what he wants and force myself to suffer for what I do not want. He is an angry man who has been jealous of me all my life. I want to hate him but I cannot,” she sighed, “why... he is still my brother.”

  The chamber that she had lived in from childhood to now, once so warm and inviting, felt like a cold prison. In all respects, it was fitting for the daughter of a wealthy merchant. The bed was big and heaped with soft quilts and blankets. There was a large hearth on one wall made with the finest marble, brought all the way from Greece.

  She stood and went to her balcony. Bandit, of course, was on her heels. On the wide balcony, she rested her hands on the balustrade and looked out. The wind picked up and blew the salty sea air into her face. Her eyes skimmed over the tall tips of the trees retrieving her home and the edges of a town. Further along, she saw the deep blue spans of the sea and was looking directly at the bobbing white sails of merchant ships.

  Their home was in Sunderland, a trading port for anything from salt and coal to teak wood from Italy and sweets from France. It was where her father had put down his roots for his business and where it had grown strong enough for the name Dellendine to be known far and wide.

  Her keen eyes spotted a few wharf hands unloading cargo from a docked ship but she knew that while the wharf was busy, the town beyond was empty. Three weeks ago, men from the capital had come to the town, conscripting all men who were able to go and fight in Scotland. Men of all ages, sons, and brothers, uncles and nephews were all scraped up and carted off to war. Isabella had a very profound feeling that many who had gone would not return.

  “Ralf should have gone with them,” she muttered angrily under her breath.

  She turned her back to the sight and looked at the chamber with dull, impassive eyes. This room, this house, this town was all she knew. Rarely had she traveled farther than the boundaries of Sunderland. Once she could remember going to Newcastle but her memory blurred when she tried to picture anything from there.

  She did not know places; she did not know the company of women or the camaraderie of friends, and surely, she did not know men. Now, she was going to be forced to marry a man she did not know and who she knew would never respect her. Mayhap her father had done her a disservice by protecting her from the cruelties of the real world, the harshness of life by giving her all she needed when she had wanted it.

  Despite not knowing much about men, images of her knight in shining armor were still able to dance through her head, flitting away as soon as they did come. She thought of a ruggedly handsome, strong man, able and fit, with the fortitude of a warrior. A man with a kind heart, a shrewd mind, and a gentle touch. A man that could make her laugh, a man that would care for her if she was rich or poor, clothed in silk or dressed in rags.

  “Where would I meet a man like that...does he even exist?” She shook her head, only to whisper, “I’m going to die alone...fantasies are just that...fantasies.”

  Bandit nosed at her again and she heard him whimper. Smiling tiredly, Isabella scratched under his muzzle, “If you were a man, you’d be perfect.”

  Someone knocked and she called out, “Enter.”

  Anna, one of the household maids, came in, “Miss, I’ve been instructed to help you pack for your journey.”

  Her eyebrows darted up. Ralf was being serious about her going to her Aunt Matilda all the way up north. Her aunt lived in England, in Cumbria, but near the borders, a scant stone’s throw away from the infamous Gretna, the crossing to Scotland. Her home had no name or village as it was nestled in the middle of nowhere, bookended by two lochs and a dirt road.

  Why her aunt had chosen to live near what her brother called a land of savages, she did not know exactly but was beginning to suspect why. To get away from this chaos of friends she thought were family. Familiarity did breed contempt after all.

  A part of her had thought her brother had been jesting, doing his best to scare her into bowing into his will, but now she knew she should never have entertained that thought. Ralf never went back on his words.

  Going into the chamber she nodded, “Right, I think my lightest trunk will do, and take my winter gowns. That far up in the hills will be cold.”

  Isabella went to her chest of drawers and tugged the top out. Reaching in, she pulled out her coveted pendant of Isabelle of France, the daughter of Louis the Eighth of France and Blanche of Castile. A privileged woman who had lived a life of pureness. It was one of the last gifts her mother had bestowed on her before she had died and it was the one Isabella cherished the most.

  Slipping the rawhide thong over her head, she moved her hair from under it and slipped the pendant into her chest. She went to her bookshelf and from the few, took out a handwritten collection of Arthurian Tales, then another one that held a translated rendition of The Book of the City of Ladies a treatise of famous women written by Cristina de Pizan. She took both and slipped them into a satchel with some writing paper and her favorite quills.

  She was taking her combs and brushes when another person came to her door. “Miss Dellendine, are you finished packing?”

  A little confused, Isabella said, “Almost, why?”

  “His Lordships says you are to leave tonight,” the serv
ant replied, swallowing nervously. “He says he does not want to let you stay the night then see that you have fled during it.”

  “He said what?” Isabella gawked then her chest tightened with anger. That’s just like him, going behind my back, trying to get rid of me, and middle of the night too. He knows the way is dangerous in the daylight, how worse can it be at night? Her laugh was low and bitter. “Well he can come and tell me himself or I am not stepping a foot out of this home until dawn.”

  She knew she was putting the poor woman in a hard position. Ralf had been known to lose his temper and throw whatever he had near him at those who irritated him. He had never put a hand on anyone but she was acutely aware that Ralf thought servants were replaceable. He easily dismissed one and hired another when the slightest thing irked him.

  Striding past the servant, Isabella went to her brother's study, the large room he had inherited from their father. She was going to make him look her in the eyes and tell her himself and not hide behind a proxy. Getting to the lower level, she pushed the door in and strode in, Ralf was shuffling some papers.