THE GIFT: A Highland Novella
Read THE GIFT: A Highland Novella Online
Authors: MARGARET MALLORY
Tags: #SCOTTISH HISTORICAL ROMANCE NOVELLA
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
THE GIFT Copyright © 2014 by Margaret Mallory
Excerpt from Captured by a Laird copyright © 2014 by Margaret Mallory
Excerpt from The Guardian copyright ©2011 by Peggy L. Brown
Cover Design © Seductive Designs
Cover image, woman © Margaret Mallory
Cover image, landscape © iStock.com/Shaiith
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact:
[email protected]
.
ALSO BY MARGARET MALLORY
(Available in ebook, print, and audio)
THE DOUGLAS LEGACY
CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (2015)
THE RETURN OF THE HIGHLANDERS
ALL THE KING’S MEN
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CHAPTER 1
Late 1441
They were burning witches.
Lily knew better than to dabble in the black arts, but with witch fever spreading through London like the plague, any woman who sold cures for headaches, warts, or love was at risk.
“
Ouch!
”
Lily pricked her finger in her haste to stitch her gold coins into the boy
’
s tunic she had acquired for her escape.
As she jerked on the tunic and breeches, she cursed the Duchess of Gloucester, who had attempted to murder the king with sorcery in hope of seeing the crown on her husband
’
s fat head.
Not that Lily gave a farthing who was king, but why hadn
’
t the woman simply poisoned him?
Thanks to the duchess
’
s dance with the devil, gangs were roaming the streets hunting for witches. Many were shocked to learn that the duchess
’
s co-conspirators in her witches
’
coven were priests and monks, but Lily had grown up as the child of a criminal. Evil did not surprise her.
She tilted her head to listen to the sounds in the dark street outside her shop.
Were they growing louder?
Following her instincts had saved her many times, and they were screaming for her to escape London until this witch-hunting frenzy passed.
Lily
’
s heart raced as she stuffed her wild, curling red hair into the boy
’
s cap. She quickly donned the rest of her disguise, stepping into the too-large boots and tossing the rough brown cloak over her shoulders.
An hour ago, she had picked the lock on the baker
’
s door, crept past the sleeping family, and helped herself to the clothes that were hanging on a hook by the son
’
s bed. She smelled faintly of yeast, but she was grateful it was not the fishmonger or the skinner who owed her for curing his boils.
That would teach the baker to pay his debts.
Hastily, she gathered small vials of the powders and potions that would be most difficult to replace and wrapped them in her extra pair of wool stockings. These she packed, along with a wineskin, a sharp blade, and a loaf of the baker
’
s fine bread, into a worn leather bag, which she then slung over her shoulder.
At the door, she paused to take a last look at the shop where she had lived and worked since she was a child of seven. Her heart felt heavy as her gaze traveled over the neat rows of jars lining the shelves, the scrubbed pots hanging by the fire, and the fragrant bunches of drying herbs hanging from the rafters.
She did not fool herself that any of it would be here when she returned. She would have to start from scratch. In the two years since the old herbalist had died and passed the business on to her, Lily had developed a thriving trade. The old woman had taught her well, and Lily had a knack for reading people and uncovering their secrets
—
valuable skills in a healer.
Her success had led to several marriage proposals from neighboring merchants. She snorted. Romantics all of them. If the church charged her with consorting with demons
—
which generally involved committing acts too disgusting for anyone but the priests to imagine
—
not one of the merchants who had professed undying love would defend her.
The men of her family were worse. Even if they offered to help her, which was unlikely, they were unreliable liars and cheats. There was not one person in the entire city of London she was willing to entrust with her safety.
She locked her door, a futile gesture, and hid the key inside her sock as a promise to herself that she would return to her beloved shop. Christmas was not far off. Surely a month of advent festivities would divert the mobs
’
attention and make it safe to return.
Lily slipped silently through back alleys she
’
d known since childhood to make her way down to the River Thames. Her friends Linnet and Jamie had gone to live in the far north of England
—
Northumberland, it was called. The wealthy couple had befriended her when she was a tiny girl, and they still came by the shop with their increasing brood on their rare trips to London. They had invited her many times to visit them.
Of course, neither she nor they believed she ever would.
When she reached the shore of the Thames, the heavy night fog that lay over the river engulfed her like a cold, damp shroud. Her steps sounded unnaturally loud in the still, thick air as she walked along the docks, and the dank smell of the river filled her nose. All she could see of the ships that lined the riverbank was the soft glow of their lanterns bobbing in the eerie mist.
She walked toward them, intent on taking the first ship sailing north.
***
“
I
’
d rather travel to hell than to the Lowlands,
”
Roderick muttered under his breath as he sharpened his dirks in preparation for the long journey.
“
Out of the thousands of warriors at his command, why did the Lord of the Isles choose me for this miserable task?
”
Most likely, he was singled out because he could speak the language of the Lowlanders, which he learned while a prisoner there
—
an experience he did not wish to repeat. But a warrior did not say nay to his chieftain, particularly when his chieftain was the Lord of the Isles, who ruled over more of the Highlands than the Scottish king.
“
That
’
tis no
’
the reason he chose ye to carry his message to the Douglas chieftain,
”
his grandmother said as she stirred a pot of fish stew over the hearth fire.
Roderick was long accustomed to his grandmother reading his thoughts, for she had the gift of
The Sight
. Growing up in a tiny cottage with the clan
’
s seer had been awkward at times for a lad. Once he became a man, she generally respected his private thoughts. Still, he made an effort to keep his mind off the lasses when he visited her.
“
Then why, pray tell, was I selected for this
special
honor, Seanmhair?
”
Roderick asked.
“
You
’
re one of his verra best warriors, and our chieftain has great trust in ye.
”
Roderick gave his grandmother a sideways glance. Though he knew she was proud of him, it was not in her nature to hand out compliments.
“
And,
”
she added after a long pause,
“
I advised him to send ye.
”
Roderick swallowed an oath.
“
Why would ye do that, Seanmhair?
”
“
A great clan like ours must have a powerful seer, and no one has been born to replace me,
”
she said.
“
A few MacDonald lasses do have
The Sight
, but
’
tis weak in
’
em.
”