Hard-Hearted Highlander--A Historical Romance Novel Read online

  Avaline looked up from her toast points. “Yes?”

  A swell of nerves rose up in Bernadette. Avaline looked so young and trusting this morning, with the tail of her hair draped prettily over her shoulder. “Goodness, but you look positively ill, Bernadette. What’s wrong? Does your breakfast not agree with you?”

  “No, I’m very well.” She hadn’t eaten anything but a bite or two of toast. “I’ve been thinking of how we might entice Mr. Mackenzie to say something that will give you reason to cry off.”

  Avaline said nothing. She steadily held Bernadette’s gaze.

  “I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s all really very simple. He cannot abide the English—”

  “No?” Avaline asked, looking a bit surprised.

  “No,” Bernadette said carefully. Was it not obvious to her? “Because of what happened between Scotland and England.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, that’s all so very sad, isn’t it?” she asked, and idly toyed with her toast. “But surely he doesn’t hold all the English people responsible.” She suddenly looked up. “How do you know his feelings? Did he tell you?”

  Bernadette felt a slight burn in her chest. “Well, I—”

  Avaline gasped. “Of course! Catriona told you, too, didn’t she?”

  “Told me what?”

  “About his first fiancée,” Avaline said, and pulled a very sad face.

  What in blazes was she nattering about? “What do you mean his first fiancée?”

  “I can’t recall her name, precisely. Something like Showna, I think.”

  Bernadette shook her head. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about.”

  “No?” Avaline said, seeming surprised again. “Oh dear, it is the most tragic story of all, Bernadette!” she said eagerly. “He was very much in love with her, and they planned to be married, just as soon as her brothers returned from the rebellion. But her brothers didn’t return, for they were killed in a terrible battle. And then, of course, it wouldn’t do to marry, not with her family in mourning. But in the meantime, someone whispered that Mr. Mackenzie had sympathized with the rebels, and his father put him on a ship straightaway to Norway, or else they might have put him on trial.”

  “Who?” Bernadette asked, still not following.

  “The English soldiers!” Avaline exclaimed, as if Bernadette should have known that. “They would have tried him for treason.” She leaned across the table and whispered, “But that’s not even the worst of it. When he came back from exile—I say exile, for it can scarcely be named anything less than that, can it? When he came back, there was no sign of her or her family. They were all gone. Can you believe it?”

  No, Bernadette couldn’t believe it—she was certain that Avaline had misheard or misinterpreted something. “Gone,” Bernadette repeated. “Gone where?”

  “That’s just it—no one knows.” She settled back in her chair and picked up a toast point. “Oh!” she said, remembering something. “And they hanged her father.”

  Bernadette recoiled. “Hanged him?”

  “Very near Arrandale. Catriona says he rows past it when he comes by loch to Balhaire.”

  Bernadette stared at Avaline as she took a bite of her toast. Could this tale possibly be true? It would certainly explain his utter disdain of all things English. Good God, she’d accused him of wearing the mantle of pity! Bernadette closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to them a moment. She slowly opened them and asked, “Are you certain, Avaline?”

  “Well, I’m entirely sure this is what Catriona told me.” She spread jam over her toast. “Now that I know what a cruel hand life has dealt him, I couldn’t possibly cry off.”

  Bernadette was so confused! Such a tragic story should have strengthened Avaline’s resolve to end the engagement. Surely she didn’t want to begin a marriage with a man who still mourned his first love? She studied Avaline. “Have you changed your mind about him?” she asked, sounding as incredulous as she felt.

  “No!” Avaline said adamantly. “I should not like to be his wife.” She suddenly put down her toast and her knife. “But there is nothing to be done for it now, and it occurs to me that perhaps I might help him. Perhaps I might find a way to bring a smile to his face once more, do you suppose?”

  No, Bernadette didn’t suppose. “I don’t...” She shifted anxiously. “I’m not entirely certain what could put a smile on the man’s face who has suffered such a tragedy.”

  “Mmm,” Avaline said, nodding. “But I must try, mustn’t I? His family would be ever so grateful if I was able to help, I should think.”

  “No, you mustn’t try,” Bernadette said, and the feeling of panic began to creep up on her. “He might never recover—”

  “Oh, Bernadette, I know you mean well,” Avaline said. “But how could I desert him? How could I be the second fiancée he would lose?”

  “But on the other hand, you are tethering yourself to a man who despises the English and loved another woman. It’s hardly fair for you, dearest.”

  “Oh, I know, I know,” she said, nodding in agreement. “How I wish that I would not be forced to wed that man, but my hands are tied, are they not? I really don’t know what else I might do.” She stood up and deposited her linen napkin on the table next to her plate. “I promised my mother I would come to her sitting room to talk about the wedding. I never knew how many details there are! The customs here are quite different. I’m to have a sixpence in my shoe, can you imagine? Will you join us?”

  Bernadette forced a smile that she hoped hid the anxiety she was feeling at the moment. “Perhaps after my morning walk?” she suggested.

  “Oh, dear, you do like all that walking, don’t you? Walk all you like,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “But you mustn’t forget your hat this time, Bernadette. You’ve too many new freckles,” she said as she went out of the room.

  Bernadette touched her face when Avaline disappeared through the door. “I do?” she muttered to herself.

  A half hour later, having assured herself she had not freckled inappropriately, Bernadette pulled on her heavy boots and went for her walk. She scarcely saw any of the scenery she’d come to appreciate, because her body was still recalling that kiss. It had haunted her all night and was still rumbling about in her, causing her skin to tingle when she recalled it, her heart to flutter.

  And now her head was full of questions about the story Avaline had told her. Was it true? Surely Avaline had gotten parts of it wrong—or rather, Bernadette hoped that she had.

  But what if it was true, any part, or all of it? And Bernadette had so eagerly made assumptions about his demeanor. She didn’t like to think what that said of her. She didn’t want to think that she’d failed to give a man she scarcely knew the courtesy of doubt. That was precisely the sort of thing that had had harmed her through the years, when people who really didn’t know her at all were so quick to judge. Had she done the same to him?

  She paused on the path when she reached the small bluff that led down to the beach and squatted to pick some of the wildflowers that had sprouted. She stood up, opened her palm and let the breeze carry them off. They fluttered to the beach, disappearing from sight.

  Had the girl really disappeared? How horrifying that must have been for him. Bernadette knew how unanswered questions of where someone had gone could torment a person until she no longer knew herself, because it had happened to her. One moment, she was lying in bed with Albert, giggling at some silly thing he’d said to her. And the next moment, he was gone, dragged away by two men while a third threw her clothes at her and commanded her to “make herself decent.”

  Bernadette never saw Albert again.

  She’d gone for months without knowing what had happened to him. Her father had been without remorse or conscience, and had refused to answer any of her entreatie
s or pleas for information about Albert. She kept expecting Albert to appear, to try and reach her in some way.

  Her aunt, her father’s sister, had finally taken pity on Bernadette and freed her from her private prison. There were no details as to how it had happened. “A storm, an accident, I really can’t say what,” her aunt had said, clearly distressed.

  After the shock of it, and the grief, Bernadette had not wanted to believe the worst about her father...but she’d never looked at him the same. She could never keep the doubts about him from creeping into her mind.

  The feeling was entirely mutual. Her father despised her so much for what she’d done that she couldn’t be entirely sure she wouldn’t be the next person lost at sea.

  Knowing Albert’s fate had not eased her pain at all—if anything, she’d felt responsible for his demise. She’d imagined his death—still did, at times—over and over, torturing her through many sleepless nights. She convinced herself she should have understood how deep and vicious her father’s vengeance would run, that she should have understood he was a man who would not be crossed.

  She should never have eloped. It had cost her everything. Everything.

  She couldn’t allow herself to think of it, lest she would cry for the thousandth time, so she wiped her palms on her skirts and turned to carry on—but was startled by the sight of a man and a horse on the path ahead of her.

  There was something vaguely familiar about him, but Bernadette was too startled to think why. He didn’t move until she did, then spurred his horse forward and began to move toward her.

  The hair on the back of Bernadette’s neck rose, and she glanced over her shoulder, assessing how far it was to Killeaven from here, Mr. MacDonald’s warning entering her thoughts. She thought she might be closer to Balhaire, but she wasn’t certain of it and tried frantically to work out which way to run as the man neared her.

  He slowed as he approached and doffed his hat. His hair was wild and unkempt, his face unshaven, his clothes unwashed. He brazenly eyed her, making her feel queasy. “Madainn mhath.”

  “Ah...good morning,” she said. Her voice was shaking.

  “Lost?”

  “Not at all,” Bernadette said, willing the tremor out of her voice.

  He could see her fear, Bernadette was certain of it, because of the way he smirked. “Aye, good, then. A bonny thing like you would no’ want to be lost round here.”

  “I am not lost,” she insisted.

  He reseated his hat and set his horse to walk again. But he continued to smirk as he and his horse ambled by. When he passed, he looked back at her, his gaze moving up and down her body.

  Bernadette whirled about and walked as fast as she could in her ill-fitting boots in the opposite direction.

  She must have stumbled on for another quarter of an hour or more, her heart pounding, and constantly looked over her shoulder. She wasn’t thinking of Albert anymore, or of Mackenzie, or anything other than putting distance between herself and that man, so she was startled nearly out of her boots for the second time that morning when she climbed the path near the cove, and saw Mackenzie on the cliff, standing so desperately close to the edge again.

  Just like the first time she’d seen him there, it seemed a private moment. But he stood so close, and now that she knew the source of his despair, she couldn’t bear it—there was something quite ominous about standing on the edge as he was. “Sir!” she shouted into the wind, surprising herself. “Mr. Mackenzie!”

  He seemed almost in a trance as he slowly turned his head. When he saw her, he stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. He wore no hat, or a neck cloth, for that matter. He wore only a lawn shirt whose tail billowed over his pantaloons, and a cloak thrown over them. He looked bedraggled.

  “Again?” he said gruffly when she climbed up the path toward him. “Do you no’ have something you ought to be doing for your mistress rather than spying on me?”

  “I wasn’t spying,” she said breathlessly. “I like to walk by the sea in the mornings.” Except this morning, which had had been very disconcerting thus far. She peered at him curiously, seeking any sign of his intentions in his expression and finding none.

  Her study of him displeased him—his frown deepened. “Why do you look at me like that?”

  “Pardon?”

  “As if you’ve never met me.”

  “I don’t...was I?” she sputtered.

  “What, then,” he said impatiently, and gestured for her to speak. “Say your piece.”

  Here was her opportunity to make amends. She clasped her hands at her waist and thought quickly how to apologize to him. “I, ah, I don’t quite know how to say...”

  He muttered disapprovingly in his native tongue and began to walk up the hill.

  “I owe you an apology!” she called after him.

  He stopped walking. He stood with his back to her for a moment, then slowly turned around. “An apology,” he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. “Do you fret about a wee kiss? Och, I told you, it was no’ a—”

  “Yes, I know, not a declaration of love, you were quite clear,” she said, now as impatient as he.

  “Then what?” he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide.

  “I owe you an apology for remarking that you wore pity like a mantle,” she said.

  He seemed not to understand at first, but then his face darkened, and his eyes narrowed. One hand closed into a fist at his side and he took several steps toward her. “Bloody hell, lass, do you think I care a whit what you say of me? I donna wear pity, no—I wear indifference. I wear it like a bloody second skin.”

  He was angry! And when he looked at her with the fury he did now, she didn’t completely trust him not to toss her off the cliff. She unthinkingly took a step backward.

  Mackenzie clucked his tongue at her. “For the love of God, donna shake now in those bloody awful boots, aye? I’ve told you, I’m no brute.”

  “I don’t think you are.” She was allowing his size and the fact that she’d already encountered one strange man today to intimidate her, and she squared her shoulders.

  “Aye, you think it,” he scoffed.

  “I don’t! Especially not since I...” Lord help her, she was wading into dangerous waters. “I mean to say, and I’m saying it very poorly, I admit, but I want to say that I understand your...demeanor, as I’ve heard of your tragic misfortune.”

  He stilled. His gaze went cold and locked on hers. “What misfortune is that?”

  “I, ah, I understand that Avaline is not your first fiancée.”

  Now the color drained from his face. And still he didn’t move, didn’t look away. She could almost feel the rage building in him and half expected to see him begin to shake and erupt at any moment.

  She should not have mentioned it. It was obviously very painful, and she should not have said it. She, of all people, should have known not to speak of it! “I beg your pardon, I’ve spoken out of turn.”

  “Aye, you have.”

  “But I...” She rubbed her ear lobe, searching for the right words. “I judged you unfairly, and for that, I must apologize.”

  “What do you know of it?” he snapped.

  “Just that you went to Norway and when you returned, she was gone.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Your sister mentioned it to Avaline—”

  He interrupted her with a string of Gaelic that sounded as if might have been quite profane. He turned partially away from her, his hands on his hips, staring toward the sea.

  “She meant no harm,” Bernadette hastened to say. “I’m sure she explained it to Avaline so that she might understand why...” She caught herself before she said something she ought not to say. She wondered briefly if there was still time to turn and run down the path.

  “W
hy I’ve been an arse,” he flatly finished for her.

  “Well... I would never say it in quite that way, but yes,” Bernadette said with a wince.

  “And now you’ve heard my sister’s interpretation of my life, and you’ve turned it into some romantic nonsense and offer me your pity.”

  “Not my pity. I never said that.”

  His face darkened. “You know nothing, Miss Holly. You donna know what happened in these Highlands. What do you think, that I returned from Norway and Seona had simply...what? Walked away?”

  “I suppose I assumed she and her family moved away,” Bernadette said uncertainly.

  “From their home? To where? For what reason? To do what?” he asked, his arm sweeping long toward the sea.

  This had gone well beyond her good and apparently misguided intentions. She’d meant only to apologize, but this was uncomfortable. How could she possibly know what had happened to his fiancée? “Perhaps they’d lost their livelihood,” she said, guessing now. It was as if her tutor was putting questions to her. Which country invaded France and why? “Perhaps to the colonies,” she added as an afterthought. Hadn’t there been a lot of emigration of late? She was certain she’d read that somewhere.

  Mackenzie’s gaze raked over her, from the top of her head to her boots. “You’re a wee Sassenach with no understanding of this world. Naive. Artless.”

  She bristled at the characterization. He made her sound as foolish as Avaline. “That is not true—”

  He suddenly thrust out his hand to her. “Come,” he commanded.

  “What?” Bernadette looked at his hand. “Where?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  She didn’t like this. Something felt wrong to her. And she was still reeling from the terrible wrong she’d committed yesterday—not to mention her botched apology today. She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  He took a step closer to her. “You’re a fearless lass, you are. Will you allow fear to stop you now?”

  She felt oddly complimented by that. And like a smitten girl, her misgivings were alarmingly brushed aside. Bernadette nodded. She put her hand in his outstretched palm. He closed his fingers around hers and tightened his grip as he pulled her along behind him, up the hill, to where his horse was grazing in a copse of trees.