Kilted at the Altar Read online

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Books from Dragonblade Publishing

  Epigraph

  More Anna Markland

  Jilted

  Sharing the Pain

  The Nellis Woman

  Tit for Tat

  Unexpected Journeys

  The Western Isles

  Storm Clouds

  The Raid

  Have We Met before?

  New Experiences

  The Wrong Question

  The Privy

  Thawing the Ice

  Testing the Waters

  Traitor

  Stinks to High Heaven

  Hobby Horse

  Who is Kyla?

  A Grave Misunderstanding

  Visitors

  Ransom

  A Simple Ceremony

  Ye Belong to Me

  Afterglow

  Boo

  Three in a Bed

  Uphill Trek

  Reunions

  Dungavin

  Desperate Measures

  Gow

  Soap Suds

  A Useful Weapon

  Don’t Tell Him Yet

  The Faerie Flag

  Abduction

  The Warrior

  The Fiery Depths

  Judgement

  Homecoming

  Goodbyes

  A Good Omen

  Struggling with Demons

  Decisions

  Kilted at the Altar

  Clash of the Tartans

  Book Two

  by

  Anna Markland

  Copyright © 2018 by Anna Markland

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by Dar Albert

  Dedicated to the memory of the first Anna Markland

  b.1729-d.1745

  Books from Dragonblade Publishing

  Knights of Honor Series by Alexa Aston

  Word of Honor

  Marked By Honor

  Code of Honor

  Journey to Honor

  Heart of Honor

  Legends of Love Series by Avril Borthiry

  The Wishing Well

  Isolated Hearts

  Sentinel

  The Lost Lords Series by Chasity Bowlin

  The Lost Lord of Castle Black

  The Vanishing of Lord Vale

  By Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Captive of the Corsairs, Heart of the Corsairs Series

  Dark Heart

  Knight Everlasting Series by Cassidy Cayman

  Endearing

  Enchanted

  Midnight Meetings Series by Gina Conkle

  Meet a Rogue at Midnight, book 4

  Second Chance Series by Jessica Jefferson

  Second Chance Marquess

  Imperial Season Series by Mary Lancaster

  Vienna Waltz

  Vienna Woods

  Vienna Dawn

  Blackhaven Brides Series by Mary Lancaster

  The Wicked Baron

  The Wicked Lady

  The Wicked Rebel

  Highland Loves Series by Melissa Limoges

  My Reckless Love

  Clash of the Tartans Series by Anna Markland

  Kilty Secrets

  Kilted at the Altar

  Queen of Thieves Series by Andy Peloquin

  Child of the Night Guild

  Thief of the Night Guild

  Dark Gardens Series by Meara Platt

  Garden of Shadows

  Garden of Light

  Garden of Dragons

  Garden of Destiny

  Rulers of the Sky Series by Paula Quinn

  Scorched

  Ember

  White Hot

  Viking’s Fury Series by Violetta Rand

  Love’s Fury

  Desire’s Fury

  Passion’s Fury

  Also from Violetta Rand

  Viking Hearts

  The Sons of Scotland Series by Victoria Vane

  Virtue

  Dry Bayou Brides Series by Lynn Winchester

  The Shepherd’s Daughter

  The Seamstress

  The Widow

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Books from Dragonblade Publishing

  Epigraph

  More Anna Markland

  Jilted

  Sharing the Pain

  The Nellis Woman

  Tit for Tat

  Unexpected Journeys

  The Western Isles

  Storm Clouds

  The Raid

  Have We Met before?

  New Experiences

  The Wrong Question

  The Privy

  Thawing the Ice

  Testing the Waters

  Traitor

  Stinks to High Heaven

  Hobby Horse

  Who is Kyla?

  A Grave Misunderstanding

  Visitors

  Ransom

  A Simple Ceremony

  Ye Belong to Me

  Afterglow

  Boo

  Three in a Bed

  Uphill Trek

  Reunions

  Dungavin

  Desperate Measures

  Gow

  Soap Suds

  A Useful Weapon

  Don’t Tell Him Yet

  The Faerie Flag

  Abduction

  The Warrior

  The Fiery Depths

  Judgement

  Homecoming

  Goodbyes

  A Good Omen

  Struggling with Demons

  Decisions

  The Loyal Welcome

  A Wife for Twopence

  Epilogue

  Historical Footnotes

  About Anna

  A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.

  ~Jean de la Fontaine

  More Anna Markland

  If you prefer to read sagas in chronological order, here’s a handy list for the Montbryce family books.

  Conquering Passion—Ram and Mabelle, Rhodri and Rhonwen (audiobook available)

  If Love Dares Enough—Hugh and Devona, Antoine and Sybilla

  Defiant Passion-Rhodri and Rhonwen

  A Man of Value—Caedmon and Agneta

  Dark Irish Knight—Ronan and Rhoni

  Haunted Knights—Adam and Rosamunda, Denis and Paulina

  Passion in the Blood—Robert and Dorianne, Baudoin and Carys

  Dark and Bright—Rhys and Annalise

  The Winds of the Heavens—Rhun and Glain, Rhydderch and Isolda

  Dance of Love—Izzy and Farah

  Carried Away—Blythe and Dieter

  Sweet Taste of Love—Aidan and Nolana

  Wild Viking Princess—Ragna and Reider

  Hearts and Crowns—Gallien and Peridotte

  Fatal Truths—Alex and Elayne

  Sinful Passions—Bronson and Grace; Rodrick and Swan

  Series featuring the stories of the Viking ancestors of my Norman families

  The Rover Bold—Bryk and Cathryn

  The Rover Defiant—Torstein and Sonja

  The Rover Betrayed—Magnus and Judith

  Novellas

  Maknab’s Revenge—Ingram and Ruby

  Passion’s Fire—Matthew and Brigandine

&n
bsp; Banished—Sigmar and Audra

  Hungry Like De Wolfe—Blaise and Anne—Kindle Worlds

  Unkissable Knight—Dervenn and Victorine

  Caledonia Chronicles (Scotland)

  Book I Pride of the Clan—Rheade and Margaret

  Book II Highland Tides—Braden and Charlotte

  Book 2.5 Highland Dawn—Keith and Aurora (a Kindle Worlds book)

  Book III Roses Among the Heather—Blair &Susanna, Craig & Timothea

  The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty (medieval Europe)

  Book 1 Loyal Heart—Sophia and Brandt

  Book 2 Courageous Heart—Luther and Francesca

  Book 3 Faithful Heart—Kon and Zara

  Myth and Mystery

  The Taking of Ireland—Sibràn and Aislinn

  The Pendray Papers

  Highland Betrayal—Morgan and Hannah (audiobook available)

  Clash of the Tartans

  Kilty Secrets—Ewan and Shona

  Kilted at the Altar—Darroch and Isabel

  Kilty Pleasures—Kyla and Broderick

  Link to Amazon page

  Jilted

  Sleat Peninsula, South Skye, Inner Hebrides, 1601AD

  Perhaps his bride’s horse had gone lame.

  Or the MacRains had been ambushed en route from Dungavin and now lay stone-cold dead in some ditch.

  Or they’d come by boat to avoid the rugged Cuillin Hills and gone aground…or foundered.

  Fuming over these and other possible reasons for the tardy arrival of his betrothed, Darroch MacKeegan stood in the open doorway of the musty kirk with his legs braced and arms folded. For more than two hours, there’d been no sign of riders on the dusty track that wound its way to the north. Indeed, the only person in sight was his round-shouldered father pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind his back.

  Nothing for it but to wander over to the altar and revisit the unlikely excuses with the sweating priest.

  “The terrain can be tricky for even the most sure-footed horse,” he said.

  The elderly cleric swiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Aye, ’tis for sure the reason.”

  Darroch raised an eyebrow. “This marriage alliance was meant to end the bitter feud between the MacKeegans and the MacRains, so an ambush is unlikely.”

  The priest smiled weakly, nodding like an imbecile. “Aye. Very unlikely.”

  “The waters are calm for once, the weather fair. A shipwreck would have caused an alarm to be raised before now by the sentinels posted on the cliffs.”

  The cleric swallowed hard. “Aye.”

  Darroch hadn’t wanted to marry Isabel MacRain, but anger tightened his gut as he grappled with the inevitable truth. He’d been…

  “She’s jilted ye,” his red-faced father declared, filling the narrow doorway with his glowering presence. “Away. We’ll nay wait any longer.”

  The priest scurried off like a rat deserting a sinking ship.

  Darroch had affixed a sprig of juniper to his clan badge as a token of respect for his unwanted bride. He ripped it from the pin and crumpled it in his fist. The juice from the berries stained his palm. “So too will run the blood o’ the MacRains for this insult,” he swore.

  He left the kirk, threw down the mangled shrub and ground it into the dirt with the heel of his boot. Jaw clenched, he strode through the silent gauntlet of his fellow clansmen, already mounted and ready to leave. They’d come to congratulate a newly-married chief’s son, but now knew him as a man who’d been snubbed by a MacRain.

  His humiliation would be the talk of the Isles. No doubt, they’d snigger about it in crofts as far away as the MacRain strongholds of Harris and Lewis.

  He mounted Barra, dug his heels into the gelding’s flanks harder than was necessary and galloped back to Dun Scaith Castle, not caring a whit that the riders behind him were obliged to eat his dust.

  *

  Dungavin Castle, North Skye, Inner Hebrides

  Isabel gripped the worn arms of the upholstered chair when her stepmother entered her chamber without knocking. The woman put her on edge at the best of times. She’d hoped her father would come to commiserate. “Any sign of them yet?” she asked, already knowing the answer and hating the desperation in her voice.

  “Nay,” Ghalla MacRain replied with a weary sigh, patting her immaculately-braided jet-black hair. Isabel suspected her aging stepmother used some concoction to produce a color more suited to a younger woman, but she constantly boasted ’twas natural.

  “Yer father’s fit to be tied,” Ghalla droned on, her voice dripping censure. “The hall’s full o’ kin waiting to move to the chapel for the nuptials. It’s been three hours, the whisky’s all gone and they’re getting restless. Many are whispering ye’ve been jilted.”

  Isabel got to her feet and paced awkwardly in the heavy red gown she planned to burn at the earliest opportunity. Clutching at a straw, she gave voice to the unlikely possibilities she’d considered. “Perhaps his horse has gone lame, or his boat run aground if they came by sea to avoid the mountains.”

  Her stepmother sat heavily in the chair she’d vacated and studied her fingernails. “They reckon there’s been no ships sighted at all and the sea’s as calm as a pond. Yer father’s seething with humiliation.”

  Isabel came to an abrupt halt. “He’s humiliated? How does he think I feel?”

  Ghalla picked invisible lint off her grey skirts. “Weel, cook keeps pestering him about what to do with the copious amounts o’ food prepared for the wedding banquet later, and yer father reckons if ye hadna made such a fuss about not wanting to wed Darroch MacKeegan…”

  “He blames me for this?” Isabel exclaimed, suspecting her scheming stepmother had likely planted the notion in her father’s head.

  “Wheest, everyone from Skye to Lewis kens yer low opinion o’ the mon. Mayhap, he’s decided he doesna wish to marry a lass with a waspish tongue.”

  Isabel clenched her jaw, infuriated by Ghalla’s insinuation. It was true she’d complained loud and long about being betrothed to a man she’d never met, but many a chief’s daughter faced the same fate. She’d only repeated what many said of Darroch MacKeegan; that he was a pirate who raided ships plying their trade up and down the Minch and that he’d swived every lass from the Isle of Mull to the Shetlands.

  “A laird’s son doesna renege on a marriage alliance arranged to settle a long-standing feud—unless he wants to perpetuate the conflict,” she muttered.

  “Weel, goes to show ye canna trust a MacKeegan,” Ghalla gloated.

  “He’s nay much of a mon if a few brickbats from a mere lass can upset him,” she replied spitefully.

  Ghalla heaved her broad behind out of the upholstered chair. “I’d best go see what I can do to calm yer father—and the cook.”

  Isabel glared at the heavy oaken door as it closed behind her stepmother. What Rory MacRain saw in the woman and her sniveling son, she’d never understand. Isabel could well imagine her mean-spirited stepbrother eagerly spreading the rumor she’d been jilted. A shiver stole up her spine every time she glimpsed a glint of something evil that lurked in Tremaine’s dark eyes.

  “Ye’re more concerned with the cook than ye are with my broken heart,” she muttered.

  Sharing the Pain

  In normal circumstances, Darroch could happily ride for miles on his beloved Barra. The wind off the sea and the grandeur of the snowcapped Cuillins always blew away whatever ills plagued him. However, the distance from the kirk to his home was too short and he was still seething with anger when he espied Dun Scaith. Perched high above the sea, the brooding castle could never be considered welcoming. Its stark grandeur suited his mood. He fumed that he’d paid scant attention to the rumors of Isabel MacRain’s complaints he wasn’t a suitable bridegroom. Clearly, the wench never had any intention of honoring the betrothal. The whole scheme was designed to embarrass him and his clan.

  His horse clattered across the walled bridge between the rugged shore and the rock on which the
fortress sat. Many a steed balked at venturing onto the arched bridge, but the roan was used to it. Paying no mind to the white water swirling over the crags below, Darroch dismounted on the drawbridge and threw the reins to Michael. “Take him,” he said gruffly.

  The fury on his face was evidently enough to banish the stable lad’s usual grin. After all, the servants were expecting the return of newlyweds.

  He thrust open the creaking door and took the stone steps up to the castle proper two at a time, pressing his hands against the rough walls to hasten his ascent. At the top, he strode into the Great Hall. The servants preparing for the wedding banquet ceased their chatter and eyed him with puzzled expressions.

  “’Tis cancelled,” he declared, hoping his voice didn’t betray the humiliation burning in his gut. He gestured to the trestle tables laden with platters of mutton and venison. “Clear this lot out.”

  They might not be aware of the reason but knew better than to question Darroch MacKeegan when he was in a temper. They scurried immediately to gather up trenchers and tankards—until his father’s gravelly voice interrupted. “Nay. We’ll sup first. Then plot our revenge.”

  The thirst to retaliate rose like bile in his throat; but not yet. Ignoring his dust-caked father, he turned on his heel and left, desperate to pour out his heart to the one person he knew would listen.

  *

  Determined not to cry, Isabel sat in the chair, staring into nothingness until the shadows lengthened and the wind suddenly ceased howling. She noticed absently that her fingers were smudged brown from the bare stem of a sprig of heather. Spirals of purple flowers lay in her lap. She must, at some point, have unpinned the MacKeegan clan emblem from her plaid and torn it to shreds. She tossed the twig into the empty hearth, shook off the petals and wiped her hands on the red silk gown.

  She may have maligned Darroch MacKeegan, but, in truth, like any young lass, she’d looked forward to being a married woman, daunting as the prospect was.

  She began pulling out the innumerable hairpins keeping her long braids coiled precariously atop her head. She’d protested that she had too much hair for such an arrangement, but Ghalla had insisted. The resulting headache only added to her torment. Perhaps once the pins were out, the numbing fog might clear from her brain.

  The first tears threatened as the last hateful hairpin was finally removed, and the braids loosened, but her spirits lifted when she heard Blue whimper out in the hallway. At last, someone who would understand her pain. She roused from her stupor, chuckling as she opened the door to allow the boarhound entry. “I’m thinking o’ ye as a person now,” she confessed, bracing herself.