The Chieftain's Choice (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  The Chieftain’s Choice

  Book 1

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Books by this Author

  About the Author

  The Chieftain’s Choice

  Book 1

  The Wolf Deceivers

  Elaine Manders

  Copyright ©2017, Elaine Manders

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-0-9969228-4-5

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, other than known historical figures, is purely coincidental. Situations, places, and dates may have been moved around to fit the story. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.

  Book Cover: Carpe Librum Book Design, Evelyne Labelle

  Scripture references are taken from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Other Books by this Author

  About the Author

  Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves.

  -Matthew 7:15

  Foreword

  The Jacobite uprising of 1745 was Scotland’s last gasp to hold onto its clan system. The people didn’t recognize it at first, but Bonnie Prince Charlie’s failed attempt to reclaim the land brought great change. The influence of the chieftain and the parish priest gave way to English law.

  In the highlands, the process wasn’t without resistance. A culture doesn’t change overnight.

  Change is always viewed with suspicion when deeply held beliefs are threatened, and opportunists circle the periphery like wolves stalking sheep, waiting for their chance to descend. Conflict creates a smokescreen, allowing them to deceive people who want to believe a lie. The more doubt and confusion, the better. The line between suspicion and superstition becomes very thin.

  In an age of fake news and change, we’d do well to remember Satan loves chaos, and deception is his most effective weapon.

  Chapter 1

  Scottish Highlands, 1770

  The black stallion reared, screaming in terror as Gavin Carmichael fought for control. Four bandits surged from the forest, dirks raised. Highland war yells ripped the air.

  For a split second Gavin’s hammering heart battled with his brain, freezing him in the saddle. His father had urged him to travel with an escort, but to save time he’d decided to travel alone, a mistake he might not live to tell.

  Chiding his stupidity, he assessed the odds. His only hope was to outrun them, and his only advantage was his horse, an animal superior to his assailants’ craggy beasts.

  With a jab to the stallion’s flanks, he broke through, but not before one of the bandits slashed his arm. His thick wool coat bore most of the blow, though he felt it clear to the bone. Without thought to the pain, he hunched on the surging horse, praying this road would lead him to McWayre Castle, his destination.

  When the pursuing hoof beats grew faint, he dared a glance over his shoulder and dragged in a breath. Though the highwaymen had dropped out of sight, he couldn’t chance they’d give up the chase.

  The road narrowed and, over a steep hill, abruptly ended in a thick forest. The stallion reared as Gavin searched for an opening. Tall oaks and pines soared toward the azure sky, while saplings and undergrowth fought for space beneath.

  Like a trapped animal, he admitted defeat and slid from the saddle. So much for answered prayer. He plunged into the brush. Loath to give up his horse, he tugged the animal along, forcing a path. The rugged terrain might provide a hiding place.

  But the thunder of approaching hoof beats told him the situation was hopeless. Should he abandon the horse and run? Before he could decide, a woman materialized from behind the trees.

  Alana McWayre. The woman affianced to Rory, his brother.

  The woman Gavin had come to claim for his own.

  He’d never met her, but he recognized her from Rory’s description. And how much she resembled her cousin, Vanora. The same lustrous russet hair, wide, blue eyes, and lithe figure.

  As he closed the distance between them, he noticed the differences. Long, dark lashes framed eyes a deeper blue than Vanora’s and drooped at the outer corners like a sad child’s. Freckles lightly dusted her nose and cheeks, and a distinctive mole marked the spot just above her upper lip.

  Similar to Vanora, but different. The differences pleased him.

  Before a greeting could rise to his throat, she grabbed his hand. With hurried strides, they navigated a narrow path until they came upon an abandoned hovel. Half of one wall was missing, and what remained threatened to fall.

  Did Alana think this crumbling structure offered protection? The noise of men thrashing the brush tightened his muscles. Without realizing it, he crushed her hand, and at the same time, dropped the stallion’s reins.

  Alana darted him a “trust-me” look from over her shoulder. Lifting her skirt with her free hand, she plowed ahead.

  Despite the danger behind, his heart slacked off its incessant hammering.

  He did trust her.

  They scrambled over a pile of rocks, the remains of a chimney. At the far wall, she released his hand and pulled back a loose timber to reveal a small crevice that might have been a secret closet for the peasants who’d once lived here.

  Alana entered the hole and motioned him to follow. With some difficulty, he wedged himself inside, letting the timber fall into place. The tight enclosure made it impossible to turn around. Not that he wanted to. He rather enjoyed being face to face with Alana.

  He breathed in a delicate rose scent. She must rinse her hair in rosewater. That might account for the way her hair shimmered in the dusky enclosure.

  Enough outside light filtered through cracks in the rotting boards to reveal her wide, frightened eyes, blue as a rain-washed sky just before twilight. He dared not even whisper words of comfort.

  The sound of men’s footfalls and voices alerted them of the danger outside, and a loud neigh told Gavin the bandits had found his stallion. Afraid to breathe, he waited as the men stomped about the hovel, kickin
g stones and arguing among themselves in highland brogue. The bandits obviously intended to take the horse, and the animal fought them.

  “Canna ye hold the reins, ye dolt,” one of them shouted. “Tisna time to look in the saddle bags.”

  “The brute ‘most knocked me down,” another said.

  “I’ll show ye how to subdue a beast.”

  The sharp crack of a whip rent the air, and Gavin felt Alana flinch as though she’d been struck. In that split second he feared she’d cry out in reaction to the stallion’s scream. His arms being pinned to his sides, he did the only thing he could do to silence her. He captured her mouth in a kiss.

  Her soft lips fluttered beneath his, and for the moment he forgot where they were or that certain death waited within a few feet.

  He didn’t know how long he held her lips captive, but probably longer than necessary. If they escaped with their lives, he’d carry out his plans to take his brother’s place and wed Alana. She’d make a bonny wife and mistress of Stonecrest, his ancestral home.

  At first he’d been infuriated with Rory for running away from his promise to marry Alana. Now with her soft body pressed against him and the taste of her sweet lips stirring his senses, he was willing to thank Rory. In more ways than he’d hoped, she was an answer to his prayers.

  When he released her, she sighed deeply and buried her face on his shoulder. After several minutes of silence, he whispered into her hair. “I think they’re gone.”

  Alana lifted her head. “Mayhap it’s a trick.” Her voice quavered low and breathless, worry still evident in her eyes.

  Gavin waited a couple of minutes longer before pushing against the loose timber. He backed out and looked around before holding the board for Alana to slip through the tight opening.

  “Wait here.” He left her in the hut while he inspected the outside.

  She’d not moved an inch when he returned. Obedient too. What more could he want in a woman. “They’ve definitely gone, along with my horse, but we’re safe. For that I must thank you, Alana.”

  Surprise registered in her face. “You ken who I am?”

  He cupped her elbow and kicked the loose stones out of their path. “I’m Gavin, Rory’s brother. Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, but we were preoccupied.”

  A blush crept into her cheeks. She must be embarrassed to have had her fiancé’s brother steal so intimate a kiss. “How did you come to be in the forest at the exact right moment to rescue me?”

  “I was riding on Kean’s Rise.” She pointed to a small hill as they walked in that direction in the brisk September air. “I saw those men following you and knew they were mayhap highwaymen. We’ve had trouble with roving thieves of late.”

  “How fortunate for me you saw them.”

  “I knew you’d be cornered by the woods, then I remembered the hovel and the hiding place, so I ran down here. Just in time, so it seems.” She flashed a pretty smile.

  “You say the McWayre has been bothered by thieves. Do you know who they are?”

  She halted and turned to him. “Nay, but mayna I ask a personal question?”

  “Of course.”

  “If you’re Rory’s brother, why did you—” Her cheeks deepened to a more ruddy hue. “Why did you kiss me in such unbrotherly fashion?”

  He couldn’t keep from laughing. “I apologize, but I had to silence you. You must admit you almost screamed when they struck the horse.”

  One tawny brow cocked and a hint of flirtation sparked her eyes. “Aye, I admit that much.” She tilted her head to one side. “Where is Rory?”

  Something akin to jealousy ran through him. Did the lass have feelings for Rory? That would complicate his and his father’s plans. “Rory has…he’s occupied. I’m here on business…about the marriage contract. My father, the Carmichael, couldn’t come. He’s been quite ill.”

  “Aye, Rory told me he had the wasting disease. ‘Tis sorry I am.” Her gaze fell to the ground. “Rory said your father’s illness was why the wedding would have to take place soon. The Carmichael wanted his sons married before—”

  “That’s true. My father has little time left.” Gavin took her arm, halting her steps. For a few moments he watched the sunlight dance on her auburn tresses, turning them to flame.

  “Why did you stop? Tis something be the matter?’

  He unhanded her, and they continued walking, the crunch of their footsteps jarring the silent forest. “I must know, Alana, what do you feel for Rory?”

  “I only met Rory once and then for little more than an hour.” She threw her hands apart. “Ours is an arranged match, surely you were aware of that.”

  “I do know, but my brother’s always had a way with the ladies.”

  A sigh lifted her shoulders. “I have no illusions about marriage. I was glad that someone from outside the highlands offered for me.”

  He found that hard to believe. She was a comely lass, her features just short of perfection. Soft spoken and obviously intelligent. “Why was that?”

  “I know the few eligible bachelors of the surrounding clans, and they all have people who’ve suffered from my father’s treachery. My parents—” She stopped suddenly, as though she’d said too much.

  “What about your parents?”

  She averted her head. “Mayhap you doona know the story. My father was killed in a raid against his own people, and his mistress was responsible for my mother’s death. I feel some hold my father’s sins against me.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” He’d heard the story, many times, as did everyone in this part of Scotland. Her father, Torquil McWayre, had turned traitor during the Insurrection and had continued raiding the area until his death. But would the McWayre and bordering clans actually blame Torquil’s treachery on the innocent Alana? He had to admit many were ignorant and superstitious enough to do so.

  She pointed to the ridge above them. “This is where I left my horse.” Holding onto spindly saplings for support, Alana scrambled up the steep rise. Gavin followed close behind.

  “It’s verra slippery.” She sent the words over her shoulder. “That’s why I left Orion on the path.”

  She suddenly lost her balance and fell back against his chest. He encircled her with his arms, and she laughed—a fresh, innocent sound. “’Twas much easier getting down than up.”

  “Is that a path?” Gavin asked, nodding to a more gently sloping trail to their right.

  “Aye, we ken go that way, but we’ll have to circle back to get Orion.”

  “You go ahead that way. Since I’m not encumbered by skirts as you are, I can climb up here easily enough and meet you at the top. I’ll bring the horse so we won’t have to backtrack.”

  ***

  When Alana reached the forest trail, she turned to watch Gavin scale the slope. He was verra different from Rory. He stood taller, and his brown hair tied into a queue with a black ribbon, was a shade darker. His gray eyes, like smoldering smoke before it bursts into flame, captivated her. She couldn’t recall Rory’s eye color.

  And Gavin was heir to the earldom. Little wonder Vanora, heiress of Gilmour Hall, fancied him.

  His muscular thighs strained tight knee breeches as he fought to climb the hill. She shouldn’t be admiring her cousin’s intended, but how magnificent he would look dressed in a kilt and the colors of his clan.

  The kilt had been outlawed by the English, though it was still worn on formal occasions. She would surely see him in his kilt at her wedding, standing beside Rory, her husband-to-be.

  Why had Gavin come instead of Rory? What was there left to discuss about the marriage contract? She assumed it had been agreed upon and signed. Grandfather had said nothing to the contrary.

  Where was Rory? Since she was promised to Rory, that question should matter to her. She forced her thoughts on her fiancé, hard as it was to pull her gaze from his brother.

  Gavin would wed Vanora, her beautiful cousin. Vanora’s dowry included Gilmour Hall and her property marched wi
th that of the Carmichael clan. Alana had no dowry. She was lucky to have any man claim her.

  Dejection followed her like a faithful dog as she trekked along the winding path to the top of the hill.

  Gavin waited for her, holding the leathers of Orion, her white Arab stallion. He lifted her into the side saddle, though she could’ve managed without his help. She wasna used to being helped. Or gallantry.

  “How far is it to the castle?” His smile revealed strong, white teeth and crinkled the corners of his eyes.

  “Not far.” She flicked the reins as he walked past the horse’s head.

  A mischievous urge to tease him hit her. Since they were to be brother and sister, he wouldna think she was flirting. “There’sna need to walk. Orion can carry us both.” When he crooked his head to meet her gaze, she sent him an impish grin. “The castle isna far, but twill take hours to get there at your pace.”

  She studied his face for any hint of censure and relaxed when he laughed.

  After swinging behind her, he settled back on the horse’s rump. “I believe you’re right. I should have thought of that, but facing death addles a man.”

  Orion whinnied in protest. “Easy,” Alana crooned. “You’ve hauled heavier loads before.” She patted the animal’s neck, and he began to canter at a steady gait.

  “I’ve never met a man who admitted to being afraid.” She twisted her head to peer into his gray eyes.

  “Every man fears something. They just don’t want to admit it to the ladies.” Gavin didn’t wait to be invited to put his arms around her waist, and a strange sensation fluttered in her stomach where his hand rested. Mayhap he ‘twould think her forward for suggesting he ride with her, but she could hardly tell him to unhand her now. He had nothing but her to hold onto.

  She wished he hadna kissed her. His every touch brought to mind the sensation of his lips pressing against her mouth. It wasna as if he’d taken liberties. He had a perfectly logical reason, and it meant nothing to him, but she’d never been kissed before. Now she’d always compare his touch with that of his brother’s and, with womanly understanding, she knew Rory would come up short.