Highland Heart
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About this ebook
Love in the time of war.
Highland Heart is a sensual historical romance set in England and the Scottish Highlands in 1745 at the time of the second Jacobite Rebellion. The romantic involvement is between a French aristocrat who is part Scottish and a British army officer who finds her as desirable as she finds him. Try as hard as they might, their overwhelming passion for each other cannot be denied. But people and events come between them nearly destroying their relationship since they are politically on opposite sides.
PUBLISHER NOTE: Historical Highland Romance. 89,900 words.
Jacqueline Seewald
Multiple award-winning author, Jacqueline Seewald, has taught creative, expository and technical writing at Rutgers University as well as high school English. She also worked as both an academic librarian and an educational media specialist.Twenty of her books of fiction have previously been published to critical praise. Her short stories, poems, essays, reviews and articles have appeared in hundreds of diverse publications and numerous anthologies. Jacqueline also has a collection of short stories: BEYOND THE BO TREE: TEN TALES OF ROMANCE.
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Highland Heart - Jacqueline Seewald
HIGHLAND HEART
JACQUELINE SEEWALD
Love in the time of war.
Highland Heart is a sensual historical romance set in England and the Scottish Highlands in 1745 at the time of the second Jacobite Rebellion. The romantic involvement is between a French aristocrat who is part Scottish and a British army officer who finds her as desirable as she finds him. Try as hard as they might, their overwhelming passion for each other cannot be denied. But people and events come between them nearly destroying their relationship since they are politically on opposite sides.
PUBLISHER NOTE: Historical Highland Romance. 89,900 words.
HIGHLAND HEART
JACQUELINE SEEWALD
booklogoWWW.LUMINOSITYPUBLISHING.COM
LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP
HIGHLAND HEART
Copyright © NOVEMBER 2020 JACQUELINE SEEWALD
Cover Art by Poppy Designs
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For Monte who supports me in every way possible.
Also, special thanks to Kate Miles, my wonderful British editor, who has now edited three of my romance novels with true expertise.
My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.
—Robert Burns
SKYE BOAT SONG
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward, the sailors cry
Carry the lad who was born to be king, over the sea to Skye—
Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunderclaps rend the air,
Baffled, our foes—Stand by the shore, Follow they will not dare—
Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,
Ocean’s a royal bed,
Rock’d in the deep, Flora will keep watch by your weary head.
Burned are our homes, exile and death
Scatter the royal men,
Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath,
Charlie will come again.
Anonymous
PROLOGUE
SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS
May 1746
She was afraid. In fact, she had never been more frightened in her entire life. Her heart hammered so loudly against the anvil of her breast that she was certain the soldiers must surely hear it. She glanced at the Prince standing beside her and decided she must control her fear or all would be lost. What was it Andrew told her? The English had orders to hang Bonnie Prince Charlie on sight.
If they were found out, the Prince was as good as dead. Madeleine didn’t even want to consider what could be done to her. Rape? Murder? Probably both. She shuddered. At best, she could expect herself to be thrown into an English prison. There were stories about conditions in those hideous dungeons: how the chains cut so deeply into one’s wrists and ankles that festering sores led to gangrene and a slow lingering death. The word had spread through the hills and glens. The English roamed in bands pillaging, raping, and killing after the Battle at Culloden Moor in April. Although it was a warm spring morning of no less than sixty degrees, she shivered as if in the middle of a snowstorm. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, then stiffened her spine and held her head high. She was of an old, aristocratic family who took pride in their heritage of courage. It was necessary to draw upon that now.
What are you doing here in the middle of nowhere?
the red-coated sergeant asked suspiciously.
I am to meet friends,
she said. I need give no further explanation.
She could only hope she sounded more confident then she felt.
Well, miss, we’re lookin’ for the White Chevalier as some call him. He’s a tall, red-haired man.
We have seen no such person. Perhaps he is already far from here, knowing that you hunt for him.
He’s a slippery eel, all right. But we’ve reason to believe he’s somewhere hereabouts.
As you can see, I have only my servants with me. We have no one else in our retinue.
The sergeant glanced at them carefully and Madeleine tried to keep her nerves under control. Who are these two men?
he asked.
My bodyguards,
she said quickly. A lady traveling alone must have protection.
I best question them,
the stubborn soldier said.
They speak only French,
came her rapid response. I am the only one here who knows your language. As you can see, my servants do not fit the description of the man you search for.
What’s a French lady doin’ in Scotland?
He was still suspicious. His sanguine coloring intensified and made her think of a rare roast.
I am visiting Scottish relatives,
she said and prayed he wouldn’t ask her to identify them.
I think we’d best bring you to Colonel Eriksen,
he said, his sharp eyes reminiscent of a fox.
The mention of Colonel Eriksen made her heart palpitate again, just as the very thought of the man made her stomach tighten oddly. Surely, it couldn’t be him? Not here. Not now. But it must be. If it were him, she feared he would somehow know the truth or discern it. He was far too intelligent and perceptive—he would look into her eyes and see into her soul and he would know. Oui, he would know!
Make up your mind quickly!
she snapped. My brother is deputy to the French ambassador in London. Rest assured he shall hear of this discourtesy if you do not release us at once. And your King shall know how I am treated. I will have my brother offer a protestation.
Felix O’Neill stood ready to fight to the death for his master, as did Colonel O’Sullivan. The two men who were loyal servants of Prince Charles Edward touched their hands to their swords in readiness if it should come to doing battle, although they were vastly outnumbered by the detachment of English soldiers. Her young cousin, Elizabeth, dressed as a boy, kept her eyes carefully cast downward and said nothing. None of them were what they appeared to be, nor would they bear close scrutiny. The Prince, disguised as her maid, glanced over at Madeleine, and gave her a reassuring smile. She thought that he was considerably braver than she could ever be. Saving him was worth any personal risk. Somehow, she had to convince this sergeant not to bring them to the colonel.
I must insist that you let us go immediately.
Her spine was stiff, her head held high, but perspiration trickled down her armpits. Madeleine prayed her acting ability was better than she thought it was.
The sergeant rubbed his chin uncertainly. I’ll have a word with the lieutenant,
he said. Then he hastily gave orders that they should remain fixed where they were and not try to leave. Instantly, they were surrounded by armed guards who kept bayoneted muskets pointed at them as if they were otherwise likely to escape.
Madeleine glanced wistfully back to the river where their small boat waited. It was truly lovely here in the Highlands. Nature proffered peace while men defiled its beauty with scarring wars and mutilating violence. They stood in a glen of silver birches, green oaks, and mountain crags with luxurious growths of ferns, flowers, and moss. Morning mist still rose above the water in a dreamlike shroud, a sight which under ordinary circumstances would inspire her awe. But her mind was too troubled at present. She thought back to how she had come to Scotland and how she had met Gareth Eriksen those many months ago. It all seemed so unreal now. The past was as a shadow in a present moment plagued by the uncertain realities of life and death.
The wild passion she’d felt for Gareth Eriksen must be forgotten for the sake of those who depended on her strength and integrity for their very survival. But she could not lie to herself: there was very little she would not give to be held, embraced again by those powerful arms, and kissed in a way that melted her very bones.
CHAPTER ONE
LONDON
October 1745
"Mon Dieu, what a breathtakingly handsome man!" Madeleine de Marnay hastily clamped a slender hand over her mouth aware that her impetuously blurted words had been most inappropriate. She was guilty of a faux pas, especially serious considering she was the child of a diplomat. Hadn’t she observed Papa’s artfulness on many occasions? How could she be so lacking in subtlety? How embarrassed Papa would have been.
Lord William smiled in an amused manner. Madeleine, you are charmingly ingenuous.
Lady Constance appeared annoyed with her husband. She folded her gloved hands over her meager bosom with indignation. You should warn Madeleine about him. Gareth Eriksen is an attractive man, dear. No matter his sins, no one can deny his good looks. But attractive in a ruthless, dangerous way. There is an aura of barely suppressed barbarism about the fellow.
Constance turned back to Madeleine, touching the younger girl’s hand with her own. My dear, you must understand the man we speak of is utterly unsuitable and undesirable.
Madeleine sneaked another quick glance at the object of her admiration and decided that even if he were unsuitable, as Constance had observed, under no circumstances could he be considered undesirable. The man who had caught her fancy was the most fascinating male she had ever seen in her seventeen years. Of course, she had not been formally introduced at the Court of Versailles and had not seen all the splendid noblemen there. Until now, she had thought King Louis XV must be the handsomest man in the world, and next came her own Papa, and after him, her half-brother, Roland. But Madeleine admitted her experience of the opposite gender was sorely lacking. She let out a soft sigh and peeked again at Gareth Erikson. This man stirred something deep within her, something other than mere admiration, although she hardly understood what such feelings might be.
Perhaps this man seemed remarkable because he was different from the other gentlemen present. She glanced at him again as he stood across the ballroom from her. Gareth Eriksen towered in height over every other man in the room. He was blond-haired and blue-eyed with a powerful, broad build. She had never seen a gentleman with quite so wide an expanse of chest. Black velvet breeches fit snugly over narrow hips that led down to well-muscled thighs and calves. She knew little of lust but was certain she must be feeling it now.
She tried to look away but found herself drawn back to stare at his extraordinary visage, fascinated by the chiseled features of his strong, masculine face: the square jaw, the prominent cleft chin, the well-formed mouth, and the straight nose. He was the only man in the room who did not appear to be striking a pretentious pose, neither self-absorbed nor self-aware. He wore no wig as other men did. Unpowdered, unpainted, unpatched, unpadded, and needing none of it. This was no foppish dandy. There was a careless quality about the way one lock of gilt hair fell over his elongated forehead. He seemed to scan the room with a defiant almost reckless air of indifference as if he had no concern in the slightest what anyone might think of him. He appeared detached from everyone else.
How she admired such a demeanor! Madeleine had always felt the need for freedom and disliked the restraints society imposed on women. At this very moment, she felt oppressed by the tight stays and hooped gown she was forced to wear. Why she was scarcely able to breathe! She wondered if the bold fellow would understand her feelings and sympathize. Yet how much could one really learn about another person simply by studying outward appearance?
Just at that moment, he caught her eye and one golden eyebrow rose in a patrician expression of amused mockery. Those brightly piercing eyes, gemstones of cool sapphire, surveyed her speculatively. She quickly looked away, her face coloring in embarrassment. Ciel, how dreadful to be caught gawking like a child! She felt dreadfully foolish and awkward.
Constance was invited to dance a minuet by an elderly gentleman and Madeleine moved closer to her friend’s husband. After a few minutes of watching the stately elegance of the dancers, she summoned up her courage.
William, tell me more about this Gareth Eriksen. Why does Constance disapprove of him?
William lowered his voice in a confidential manner. "There are those who think him a rake and a scoundrel partly because of the scandal in which he was once involved. But I have been his friend since we were school chums and I would trust my life to him. I know he has integrity. However, in all honesty, where women are concerned, I feel it best to warn you that the man is a rakehell and travels in the fastest set of the ton. Constance is quite right to tell you not to glance in his direction. He should not be encouraged—not that he would go near a sweet, young thing like you, of course. Gar really does abide by the rules of the game. He knows very well that tender debutantes are off-limits."
Constance was returned to her husband’s side as the dance ended. Were you two still discussing that dreadful rogue?
Her lower lip curled as if she’d tasted bad fish.
Really, that is a bit unfair, don’t you think?
Like that duel in which he was involved?
The Marquis expelled a sigh. Must you dredge up old tales? Gar was forced into that nasty business seven long years ago.
Constance’s perfection of a wig did not stir as she snapped her head around to squarely face William. My dear, he seriously wounded the father of the girl whose reputation he had compromised. I have that on excellent authority.
Lower your voice, dearest. The fact is, Gar had intended to marry the girl. It was her father who refused to permit the match.
And we all know why that was.
Her voice was a hiss of indignation as she snapped open her gilt fan.
Madeleine was about to inquire why the young woman’s father had refused his blessing, but she realized they were in a most public place and bit her lip, aggrieved that she had started an argument between her friends. Instead, Madeleine moved between the two, her voluminous hoop skirt making for an instant separation. William, could you bring us some punch, please? I am very thirsty.
The Marquis politely agreed and left the two young ladies standing together. She hoped discussion of Gareth Eriksen would end here, but Constance was not quite ready to drop the topic.
Look at him, standing there with Lady Emily Worthington, a brazen hussy. She may be the wife of a nobleman, but she chases after other men as shamelessly as a common tart. It is really quite shocking.
Constance’s face flushed as she warmed to her subject and the fan flapped in consternation.
It is not so different at King Louis’s court. There are all sorts of sordid liaisons.
Constance frowned, displaying a crease in her forehead. "How would you know about such matters, dear?"
Madeleine shrugged, her cheeks flushing pink. Obviously, she said the wrong thing again. My brother has spent much time at court. He tells me.
That is most improper of him.
Constance fanned herself more vigorously.
When William returned with their punch glasses, Madeleine thanked him and Constance for their kindness toward her. You are both very good friends, and it was thoughtful of you to bring me here tonight.
She breathed a sigh of relief as Constance and William left her to dance a set together. No one came to claim her. Indeed, her dance card was virtually empty, but she supposed that was to be expected. Her appearance at Lady Grayford’s pre-season ball was not a resounding social triumph. As soon as it was known that she was French, almost everyone shied away from her. The English did not like the French in these strained times. Perhaps a peace treaty was soon to be signed, but still the two countries were far from friendly. As the daughter of a former diplomat, she was well aware of the situation.
The fact that Madeleine’s mother was descended from Scottish Highland nobility caused her to be even less popular, nor did Papa being related to King Louis seem to impress the haute ton in the slightest. English society viewed her with distrust as if they thought her a spy. Constance believed her friend would surely snare a worthy husband if she made her debut, but Madeleine was not so certain.
Even her looks were wrong. She saw English noblemen admiring tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed women as if they were goddesses. Her own hair was black as a raven’s feathers. In stature, she stood a petite five feet three inches, and while her waist was tiny, her breasts were high and full, her curves embarrassingly emphasized by hoops and stays. The English, she thought, liked their young women small-breasted; somehow it seemed more maidenly and modest. With her enormous gray eyes and full pouty mouth, she looked very French and probably too earthly for a young virgin. It seemed as if she were wrong in every respect to make a mark on London society.
She glanced toward Gareth Eriksen once again. He was decidedly the most desirable man in the room. He exuded an aura of granite strength and raw virility she found exciting. He was handing Lady Worthington to another man now and watching them dance off to join the others on the floor. Then he walked through the double doors out into the garden. Madeleine had the irresistible urge to follow after him. Of course, she must do no such thing, especially after her friend’s warning. But she did want to get a closer look at the man. He was the only one at the party that intrigued her.
What difference did it make what these people thought of her anyway? She had no reason to impress them. She was French and Scottish after all. English standards and values had nothing to do with her. She gave herself over impetuously to the boldness of spirit that her mother had sternly warned her to suppress.
With a quick movement, she found her warm shawl and moved with agility across the room and out the wide doors. There was torchlight to illuminate the walkways through the shrubbery, but the garden was deserted. Madeleine bravely continued forward, shivering in the evening chill. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see the tall figure of a man off to one side looming near a carved bench, his leg raised as he leaned forward on it. She decided to simply walk past him.
I wouldn’t go walking through the hedge.
His voice was deep, resonant, and pleasing to her ear.
He had actually noticed her. She quickly turned around. Why not?
It is not the sort of thing a young lady should do if she is unescorted.
Then perhaps you might escort me?
She was glad that it was dark so that he would be unlikely to see how red her face was, for she was certain that it had colored deeply. In her whole life, she had never been so outspoken.
He let out a rumbling, surprised laugh that came from deep within his chest. You would compromise your reputation if you took a walk in the maze with me.
Would we get lost?
she asked in a soft voice.
Most assuredly, I do not know the way. And you would certainly be lost.
She stared into his eyes with interest. I was told that you are a notorious rake. Is that so?
She was mortified by her own audacity. What was wrong with her? Mama would slap her if she knew how badly Madeleine was behaving.
He laughed again with a surprised sound that had the clarity of a bell. You are either the most innocent chit imaginable or the most accomplished flirt I have ever had occasion to meet.
He sounded amused but she regretted her foolish remark. Surely, she had been taught better. I am sorry. I truly did not mean to insult you.
He smiled at her. Who protects you?
Her brows rose questioningly. Why do I need protection?
From men like me, of course,
he said with a disarming smile that took her breath away. We are prone to snatch away the innocence of young maidens. Who are you?
I am Madeleine de Marnay. My father, Etienne de Marnay, was the Comte de Sarnou, French Deputy Ambassador to England. He died six months ago.
My condolences. And you have not returned to France, Mademoiselle?
No, my maman is ill and does not wish to leave England quite yet. But when we go, I believe it will not be to France but to Scotland.
He narrowed his jewel-like eyes. Why Scotland of all places?
Maman was born there. She still has family in the northwest. My grandfather was the chief of a clan in the Highlands but he supported King James against the Elector of Hanover and was forced to flee with his family or be arrested for treason.
She was telling him more than she ought. Why did she have the unfortunate tendency to babble when she was nervous?
So your mother wants to return to the Highlands, but why?
His tone was cool, disinterested.
The Highlands will always be her home. And now that Papa is gone, she wishes to be buried with her own people.
Gareth Eriksen shook his head. She is picking the worst possible time to go to Scotland. Tell her that the Young Pretender is on the march with a Highland army. Soon, they’ll be facing a large British force and the danger to anyone caught in between could be devastating. She would be risking your life as well as her own.
His fierce frown was magnificently masculine and she let out a small sigh of admiration.
Prince Charles Edward might make a fine showing, don’t you think?
Madeleine was unable to restrain the enthusiasm from her voice. The passion she expressed for the cause masked the strange, disturbing feelings for the handsome stranger that so heated her blood.
She hoped that he could not read her mind. She would truly die of shame if he had an inkling of how desperately she wished to caress his cheek with the tips of her fingers. And Mother of God, if only this virile man would crush her into his arms and kiss her—perhaps even make love to her! Where were such wild, outrageous thoughts coming from? She must be mad!
CHAPTER TWO
Gareth stared at the girl, again surprised by her words. King George isn’t going to let the Young Pretender near London, just as his father squashed the Old Pretender’s move in ’15.
She licked her lips in a gesture he found provocative. Her lips, full and lush, invited kissing. He had no intention of laying a finger on her but she was alluring.
The Prince is young and strong and he has the clans behind him. My maman says there are no braver or fiercer fighting men in the entire world.
Her light eyes were alive, aglow. Her face was a moonbeam. In contrast, he felt world-weary, jaded, having seen too much of life—and death.
I believe we English would differ with you on that.
Why was he discussing politics with a chit barely out of the schoolroom? He was annoyed with himself. Why was he talking to her at all? Perhaps she was different? Most of the young ladies present were empty-headed creatures in his estimation. They offered little in the way of conversation, only gossiping or talking incessantly of fashion. He found them dreary, shallow and dull.
I believe I hear fear expressed among many of the people here tonight that the Prince will soon swoop down from the North,
she said.
So, Mademoiselle, you are an ardent Jacobite, I collect.
She was blushing most becomingly. It is quite clear the true King was denied his throne merely because he was a Catholic. Instead, a German who did not even speak the English language and had no interest in England became king.
The passionate conviction behind her words intrigued him. She was obviously a misguided idealist, but that was typical of youth. Still, very few young girls had anything more on their minds than pretty clothes and husband-hunting. She was hardly a silly, young frip. He detested those who giggled and flirted vacuously. Her face had drawn him at once. It was the face of an angel, a face he would have expected to see only in heaven, delicate and ethereal. The huge eyes were silver in the moonlight, the lips soft and full, the face shaped like a heart with high, sculpted cheekbones. She was beautiful in an exotic way, unique and different from any female he had ever encountered. But she was also terribly young, naive, and certainly not for him.
You would find if you knew George the Second, that he is quite a different man than his father was and very interested in English affairs. In fact, he personally led us at the Battle of Dettingen in Flanders. I do not think you will see many a king taking such a risk.
You’re an English soldier?
she gasped in surprise.
Colonel Gareth Eriksen of the Pragmatic Army at your service,
he said with a slight incline of his head.
Her huge eyes became even more enormous. But how can that be? You are not wearing a uniform.
I have been on leave, recovering from wounds received in battle.
And are you quite recovered?
Her expression was one of concern.
I have orders to rejoin my men in two days.
The girl bit down on her lower lip. I see.
Let me offer you one small piece of advice. Although you are a foreigner and therefore not subject to His Majesty’s laws, it would be best if you did not go about spouting Jacobite sympathies. There is a great deal of bitter feeling here in London toward the cause you support. I would not like to see you suffer for it.
Is that a threat, Colonel Eriksen?
Her eyes met his with amazing directness.
Merely friendly advice. You do seem in need of someone to take you in hand.
She stiffened her spine. Now you sound like my brother, Roland.
"Ah, so you do have a protector after all!