The Laird of Stonehaven Read online

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  BESTSELLING AUTHOR CONNIE MASON:

  THE PRICE OF PLEASURE

  “She delivers what longtime romance readers want: remarkable characters and a story that sweeps them away.”

  A KNIGHT’S HONOR

  “This is classic Mason. Her fans will put this on the top of their to-read lists.”

  GYPSY LOVER

  “Mason’s romances are always a feast for readers seeking a passionate, exciting story peopled with larger-than-life heroes who take your breath away.”

  THE PIRATE PRINCE

  “A legend of the genre, Mason delivers a tried-and-true romance with a classic plot and highly engaging characters.”

  THE ROGUE AND THE HELLION

  “Ms. Mason has written another winner to delight her fans who want sexual tension that leads to hot explosion, memorable characters and a fast-paced story.”

  THE LAIRD OF STONEHAVEN

  “[Ms. Mason] crafts with excellence and creativity . . . [and] the added attraction of mystery and magic.”

  LIONHEART

  “. . . Upholds the author’s reputation for creating memorable stories and remarkable characters.”

  THE BLACK KNIGHT

  “Ms. Mason has written a rich medieval romance filled with tournaments, chivalry, lust and love.”

  THE OUTLAWS: SAM

  “Ms. Mason always provides the reader with a hot romance, filled with plot twists and wonderful characters. She’s a marvelous storyteller.”

  GUNSLINGER

  “Ms. Mason has created memorable characters and a plot that made this reader rush to turn the pages . . . Gunslinger is an enduring story.”

  BEYOND THE HORIZON

  “Connie Mason at her best! She draws readers into this fast-paced, tender and emotional historical romance that proves love really does conquer all!”

  The Wedding Night

  “Blair, look at me.”

  When she refused, he grasped her chin and turned her toward him. “Dinna be shy, lass. If this is to be our only time, I want to make it pleasurable for you.” He stretched out beside her. “Relax.”

  Before she realized what she was saying, the words she had spoken in her dream escaped her lips. “I canna love you.”

  “I dinna ask for love.”

  Blair knew that. He loved another. “I am sorry for you, Graeme MacArthur. You were trapped into marriage by my father and had little choice in the matter.”

  “Nevertheless, we will make the best of this marriage once we get the bedding out of the way. You do understand why this is necessary, do you not?”

  She nodded jerkily, understanding but still unwilling. Her thoughts skidded to a halt when Graeme, moving with slow deliberation, began to remove her shift.

  “What are you doing?”

  His hands stilled. “I want to see all of you.”

  Other books by Connie Mason:

  A BREATH OF SCANDAL SHADOW WALKER

  A KNIGHT’S HONOR SHEIK

  A LOVE TO CHERISH SIERRA

  A PROMISE OF THUNDER SURRENDER TO THE FURY

  A TASTE OF PARADISE TAKEN BY YOU

  A TASTE OF SIN TEARS LIKE RAIN

  A TOUCH SO WICKED TEMPT THE DEVIL

  BEYOND THE HORIZON TENDER FURY

  BOLD LAND, BOLD LOVE THE BLACK KNIGHT

  BRAVE LAND, BRAVE LOVE THE DRAGON LORD

  CARESS AND CONQUER THE LAST ROGUE

  FLAME THE OUTLAWS: JESS

  GUNSLINGER THE OUTLAWS: RAFE

  GYPSY LOVER THE OUTLAWS: SAM

  HIGHLAND WARRIOR THE PIRATE PRINCE

  ICE AND RAPTURE THE PRINCE OF PLEASURE

  LION’S BRIDE THE ROGUE AND THE

  LIONHEART HELLION

  LORD OF DEVIL ISLE TO LOVE A STRANGER

  LORD OF THE NIGHT TO TAME A RENEGADE

  LOVE ME WITH FURY TO TEMPT A ROGUE

  MY LADY VIXEN TREASURES OF THE HEART

  PIRATE VIKING WARRIOR

  PROMISE ME FOREVER VIKING!

  PROMISED SPLENDOR WILD LAND, WILD LOVE

  PURE TEMPTATION WIND RIDER

  SEDUCED BY A ROGUE

  CONNIE

  MASON

  THE LAIRD OF

  STONEHAVEN

  DORCHESTER PUBLISHING

  Published by

  Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  200 Madison Avenue

  New York, NY 10016

  Copyright © 2003 by Connie Mason

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Trade ISBN: 978-1-4285-1705-9

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-4285-1706-6

  First Dorchester Publishing, Co., Inc. edition: September 2003

  The “DP” logo is the property of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Visit us online at www.dorchesterpub.com.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Author’s Note

  THE LAIRD OF STONEHAVEN

  The MacArthur Prophecy

  According to legend, a Faery Woman with extraordinary powers will be born from time to time into the MacArthur clan. She will be a healer with the knowledge and ability to help others, but her strength and endurance must be tested by obstacles. If she survives ordeals by fire, water, and stone, she will forever be blessed by God.

  The Faery Woman must be wary of falling in love, for if her love is not returned, she could lose her powers. But the Faery Woman fortunate enough to find her true love and be loved in return shall survive the ordeals and live happily ever after.

  So sayeth the legend.

  Prologue

  Gairloch, Scottish Highlands, 1432

  He was naked. Magnificently, blatantly naked. His body was sheer perfection, with wide shoulders, a deep chest and corded ribs. She couldn’t look away. Her gaze wandered over his muscular arms, slim hips, flat belly and taut buttocks, finally moving down to his groin. He was fully erect, his sex jutting boldly upward amidst a swirl of dense raven curls.

  Her gaze shot up to his face. The shadows parted, and for the first time his features were revealed to her. His was a handsome visage, hardened now by lust. His obvious desire terrified her, but she refused to show fear.

  Despite her wariness, she found his masculine beauty thrilling. Naught about him was ordinary. Neither his piercing blue eyes, generous lips nor dark hair tinged with fiery highlights.

 
He approached the bed; she cringed away from him. She knew what he wanted.

  “Nay, you mustna.”

  “Aye, I must.” Though he had come to her many times in the past, he had never spoken before, and the deep thunder of his voice startled her.

  Who was he?

  “I canna love you,” she whispered.

  “I dinna ask for love.”

  He lowered himself to the bed, melding their bodies. Immediately a burning sensation consumed her. She cried out; the intense heat was unbearable. He spread her legs with his knees and flexed his hips. She flinched away, but he was relentless in his pursuit of her.

  Splaying her hands against his massive chest, she attempted to shove him away. But her fingers touched . . . naught. He was gone. Naught remained but his masculine scent and the memory of him imprinted upon her body and in her mind . . . and smoke.

  A scream rose from her throat as flames shot up around her, singeing her flesh and setting her hair on fire. Disembodied faces danced just beyond the ring of fire. Leering faces, threatening faces, frightened faces. Men, women, children, all chanting:

  “Burn, witch, burn.

  Burn, witch, burn.”

  “Blair, wake up! Ye’re dreaming again.”

  Blair MacArthur was more than happy to awaken from the recurring nightmare. Though the same frightening dream had invaded her sleep many times since she had become aware of her powers, this time was different.

  She had seen his face and heard his voice.

  “I am awake, Alyce.”

  “Was it the same dream?”

  “Aye, but this time I saw his face.”

  “Did ye recognize him?”

  “ ’Twas no one I knew.” She grasped Alyce’s gnarled hands. “Something is about to happen. I can sense it. Quickly, get the candles and the bag of herbs.”

  “Oh, nay, Blair, yer father has forbidden ye to summon the spirits.”

  “My spells hurt no one,” Blair argued. “My powers are God given. I am as faithful to the church’s teachings as you are. To deny the powers I have been given is a sin. Please, Alyce, I must know the role the man in my dreams will play in my life.”

  Worry darkened Alyce’s brow as she fetched four candles from the cupboard. When she returned, Blair had rolled up a rug near the hearth, revealing a chalk circle drawn upon the flagstone floor. Taking a deep breath, Blair stepped into the circle.

  Alyce handed Blair the sack of fragrant herbs. Then she placed the candles at intervals along the perimeter of the circle and lit them with a faggot from the fire. Immediately one candle flame turned red, another blue, the third burned with a silver hue, and the fourth blazed a vivid purple. Blair aligned herself with the full moon, visible through the open window, sprinkled the herbs at her feet and chanted:

  “Spirits, come to me.

  Open my eyes and let me see

  What the future holds for me.”

  Then Blair invited the spirits into her heart and mind, bidding them to reveal the unknown, to interpret her dreams and make known her enemies.

  Closing her eyes, Blair inhaled deeply until she became one with the forces of nature and the universe. She cried out and stiffened as a surge of energy entered her body. The curtains at the open window blew inward and the skirt of her fine linen shift fluttered about her slim legs, and then everything went still as a vision formed behind her eyes.

  She saw him. The man in her dreams stood large and virile before her. He wore the blue, green and black plaid of Clan Campbell. An aura of red, the color of war and bloodshed, hovered over him. Was the man a warrior? Abruptly the aura changed from blood red to blue, the color of love and peace.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  No answer was forthcoming.

  “Are you my future?”

  He merely smiled.

  “I canna love you. ’Tis forbidden.”

  His smile taunted her, his voice challenged her. “Is it?”

  Before she could question him further, the vision faded, replaced by that of her half-brother Niall, the man destined to become Chieftain of Clan MacArthur when her dying father breathed his last. His evil grin lacked warmth and sincerity. He reached out to her in a menacing manner. She screamed, breaking the spell.

  “Are ye all right, lass?” Alyce asked. The candles were extinguished as Blair stumbled from the circle. “What did ye see?”

  “The man in my dreams is a Campbell.”

  “A MacArthur ally,” Alyce said with a sigh of relief. “Did ye see anything else?”

  “My brother Niall. He means me harm.”

  “Aye.” Alyce nodded knowingly. “Yer brother is up to nae good.”

  “We must be on our guard, Alyce. Once he is chief—”

  “Hark!” Alyce hissed. “I hear angry voices at the gate. Do ye ken what they are saying?”

  Both women flew to the window overlooking the gate. The moon had disappeared, replaced by a blood-red sunrise, and the voices that rose up were chanting the words from Blair’s dream.

  “Burn, witch, burn.

  Burn, witch, burn.”

  Chapter One

  Stonehaven at Torridon, Scottish Highlands, 1432

  “Ye’re mad, Graeme!” Heath Campbell chided the laird of Stonehaven. “You canna wed the MacArthur lass. Have ye not heard? I know ye’ve been away fighting in France with Joan, the Maid of Orleans, but surely you recall the MacArthur Prophecy. The MacArthur lass is said to be a Faery Woman.” He lowered his voice until he could barely be heard over the jingle of their horses’ harnesses. “Some say she’s a witch.”

  Graeme’s dark brows rose in obstinate objection. “I dinna believe in witches, Cousin.”

  “Mayhap ye should,” Heath grumbled.

  Graeme urged his horse onward toward Gairloch and Douglas MacArthur, chief of Clan MacArthur and a Campbell ally.

  “Douglas MacArthur is dying,” Graeme stated flatly, “and he fears for his daughter’s life. I canna ignore his summons. The least I can do is speak with him. Mayhap I can suggest another to wed his lass.”

  Heath shook his shaggy head. “I canna believe ye would even consider wedding a Faery Woman.”

  “You place too much store in rumors,” Graeme scoffed. “Blair MacArthur is known for her healing skill. There is talk of other powers, but I dinna believe what I canna see.”

  “What about Joan the Maid? Did she not possess unnatural powers? She claimed that her mandate to fight came from God.”

  Graeme gazed into the distance where the sun was rising to shed a crimson glow over the land. He was recalling the horrible fate of the young woman whom he had fought to protect but had been unable to save from a fiery death. His blue eyes turned murky and his handsome features hardened.

  “Joan was a true saint. That much I know. She truly believed that God directed her actions. She died a martyr to her faith, but her fate was not easy for me to accept. In my eyes, no woman can ever live up to her. But Joan is no more, and I fully intend to obey MacArthur’s summons. He saved my father’s life once, and I owe him.”

  Heath blinked in dismay. “Then ye do intend to wed the witch.”

  “I didna say that,” Graeme hedged. “I merely intend to hear MacArthur out.”

  “ ’Tis said the lass has stringy black hair and a wart on the end of her nose.”

  “Leave off, Cousin,” Graeme warned. “I can make my own decisions.”

  “Aye,” Heath said glumly. “ ’Twas yer decision to go fight on foreign ground.”

  “Better the English focus their army on France than Scotland. I did what I thought was right.”

  “And neglected yer holdings in the bargain. Not to mention the wound ye suffered at the hands of the English.”

  “Uncle Stuart proved more than capable in my absence. As for the wound, ’tis long healed.”

  “I see ye’re set on this folly,” Heath sighed. “But dinna let the witch cast a spell on ye.”

  Graeme shook his head at his cousin’s superstitio
n. He was too world-weary and too cynical to believe in evil spells or witchcraft. At eight and twenty he had seen and done things in France that had shattered his innocence. He had bedded accomplished courtesans, dockside whores and lonely widows. He had killed and maimed in battles fought on foreign soil, and found something so holy, pure and innocent in Joan the Maid that her violent death by fire had devastated him.

  After her passing, he had returned to Scotland to heal, but the raw wound of her violent death still festered inside him. Trust in humanity no longer existed for him. Only Scotland was real, and Stonehaven. Though he had obeyed MacArthur’s urgent summons, he would not wed his daughter if he could help it. There was no passion left inside him for a wife. He had given his all to Joan’s cause and intended to dedicate the rest of his life to protecting the Highlands against English aggression.

  When the keep came into view, Graeme paused, surprised to see a boisterous rabble clustered outside the gate. He drew his sword, advising his six kinsmen who accompanied him to do the same.

  “Who are those people? Can ye hear what they’re saying?” Heath asked.

  Graeme moved cautiously forward. “I dinna like it. Be on your guard.”

  “They’re not MacArthurs,” Heath noted. “Some are wearing MacKay plaids. What do ye think they’re up to?”

  “I dinna know, but I intend to find out,” Graeme said, spurring his horse.

  When Graeme was close enough to hear what they were saying, the blood froze in his veins.

  “Burn, witch, burn.”

  A curse on his lips, he plunged into the rabble-rousers, scattering them in all directions.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he thundered.

  “ ’Tis the witch Blair,” a man boldly taunted. “Her evil spells are causing havoc.”

  “Aye,” a hard-faced woman agreed. “My bairn fell ill when she looked at him. ’Tis witchcraft, I tell ye.”

  “When she passed by my fields, my crops withered and died,” observed a poorly dressed man.

  “My cows no longer give milk,” another contended. “The witch doesna belong here, living among good, decent people.”