A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,59
as the soul of the man she loved.
* THE END *
About Kerrigan Byrne
Kerrigan Byrne is the USA Today Bestselling and award winning author of several novels in both the romance and mystery genre.
She lives on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington with her wonderful husband and Willow the Writer Dog. When she’s not writing and researching, you’ll find her on the beach, kayaking, or on land eating, drinking, shopping, and attending live comedy, ballet, or too many movies.
Kerrigan loves to hear from her readers! To contact her or learn more about her books, please visit her sites:
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All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Fiona and the Three Wise Highlanders
Fiona MacDonald is overjoyed to see Stuart Cameron alive and well after his imprisonment by the English, but her worries are not over. Stuart Cameron owes his safety to a pair of smugglers who have come to collect on their debt, and Stuart will need her help to win himself free.
Chapter One
Kilmorgan Castle, 1892
“Papa.”
Ian Mackenzie, at his desk in the attic room he’d turned into his private study, warmed as he heard the voice of his youngest daughter, Megan. He looked up from a letter he’d been transcribing, one from the 1350s that described his ancestor, Old Dan Mackenzie, and his feats at the Battle of Berwick. All thoughts of the past, the battle for Scotland, and Old Dan’s reward of a dukedom, fled.
Megan was ten, with the glossy brown hair and blue eyes of her mother. She loved books and music, happy to sit reading or playing sweet notes on the piano. She was also as interested in the family’s history as Ian.
Ian said nothing, waiting for Megan to tell him why she’d come. She was shy, as he was, but she spoke up firmly when she had something to say.
“What happened to Stuart Cameron, Papa?” Megan crossed the room to stand beside his desk. She had a bow in her hair, a blue one to match her eyes, and it rose above her head like fairy’s wings. Ian had the sudden impression that she was a fairy, and she’d fly away from him if he weren’t careful.
“Papa?”
Ian forced his gaze from the bow and settled it on her eyes. “Aye, lass. Stuart Cameron. Will Mackenzie’s best mate.”
A few days ago, Ian had regaled the younger Mackenzie generation with the tale of Alec Mackenzie, brother to their ancestor who’d survived the Battle of Culloden. Alec had rescued the family friend, Stuart Cameron, from captivity and certain death.
Ian carefully folded his papers and pushed them aside. Old Dan would have to wait. He lifted his daughter to his lap, his arm around her waist to hold her steady.
“Stuart Cameron traveled to France with Alec and Will after escaping from prison,” Ian began without inflection. “He returned to Scotland in December of 1746, where he met Fiona Macdonald—”
“No, Papa.” Megan gazed up at him reproachfully. “That is not how you begin a story.”
Ian felt a trickle of mirth. His family believed him a stickler for procedure, but whenever he deviated from it, they grew bewildered and guided him back.
“Aye, ’tis so.” Ian held Megan closer. “I will start again.”
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, bringing to mind the exact words of the letters he’d read, plus the diary of Fiona Macdonald, great-great-great-great aunt by marriage to his mother, Elspeth Cameron.
“Once upon a time …”
Near Inverness, December, 1746
The three men who swaggered into Balthazar’s inn were bundled in drab thick coats, boots that must have squelched through every patch of mud from here to Aberdeen, drenched hats pulled down to their ears.
Fiona Macdonald sat very still in the warm corner near the fireplace, feet buried in the straw on the floor. Beside her, Una, her maid, long-time companion, and fellow conspirator, stiffened, ready to become a guard dog in an instant. Una was not happy that Fiona had to rest in the common room, but the inn was crowded tonight, and a chamber was being readied for her by the innkeeper’s daughter.
“We come bearing gifts,” the smallest of the men sang out. He was a disreputable fellow,