Highland Vow E-Book

J.L. Jarvis

• Herausgeber: Bookbinder Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 199

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

A battlefield vow will force him to choose between honor and love. 

Amidst the chaos of war, dashing mercenary soldier Gowan Dunbar finds himself drawn back to his homeland to fulfill a sacred vow made to a fallen friend. Morna Innes, a spirited beauty betrothed to another, longs for a love that transcends the constraints of tradition.

But fate has other plans for the two of them. As the sparks of passion ignite, Morna and Gowan must confront a heart-wrenching choice — to follow their hearts or to honor their families. 

The outcome will determine their future, forever entwined by a battlefield vow.

Leseprobe

A battlefield vow will force him to choose between honor and love.

Amidst the chaos of war, dashing mercenary soldier Gowan Dunbar finds himself drawn back to his homeland to fulfill a sacred vow made to a fallen friend. Morna Innes, a spirited beauty betrothed to another, longs for a love that transcends the constraints of tradition.

But fate has other plans for the two of them. As the sparks of passion ignite, Morna and Gowan must confront a heart-wrenching choice — to follow their hearts or to honor their families.

The outcome will determine their future, forever entwined by a battlefield vow.

Also by J.L. Jarvis

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For more information, visit jljarvis.com.

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Highland Vow

J.L. Jarvis

HIGHLAND VOW

Copyright © 2018 J.L. Jarvis

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief passages in a review. Please support authors by not participating in electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

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

ISBN (paperback) 978-1-942767-36-7

ISBN (ebook) 978-1-942767-14-5

Published by Bookbinder Press

bookbinderpress.com

Contents

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

Thank You!

Book News

Also by J.L. Jarvis

About the Author

Acknowledgments

ChapterOne

Scotland, 1742

It wasn’t just land. It was Scotland, and Gowan was home. Still feeling the sway of the ship underfoot, Gowan stepped onto firm Scottish ground, then he and his fellow soldiers made their way to the nearest dockside tavern.

He planted himself on a stool at the end of the bar, where he found quiet amusement with a bottle nearby and a view of his friends shaking off the memories of war with drink, women, and laughter. A pretty young woman with fiery hair appeared at Gowan’s side and draped her arms over his shoulders.

With a warm smile and a wink, he said, “Not tonight, lass.”

Weary and troubled by what lay ahead, Gowan wanted to be on his own for the evening to wallow in grief, undisturbed. Weeks had passed since his best friend had died in battle, but coming home brought a fresh release of emotion he hadn’t expected. In time, he would find peace with his grief, but for now, he would live with the weight of regret.

Gowan ate as fine a meal as he’d had in months, which said more for the hardships he’d endured than the innkeeper’s cook, then he ascended the stairs to the room he’d secured. After lying awake for more than an hour, at last, he found solace in sleep.

Dew clung to the grass in heavy droplets as Gowan emerged from the tavern the following morning. He headed straight for the stables and found a fine beast in need of a new owner and an owner in want of Gowan’s coin. He paid more than the horse was worth, but he rode away atop the gelding, feeling like the master of his own destiny for the first time in years. As he rode, he reached over and touched the sgian-achlais under his left arm. The blade had belonged to his friend Robert Innes, who wouldn’t need it anymore.

By midmorning, Gowan was well on his way down an old drovers’ road with the faint sun on his back. In good weather, the trip took an hour, but this was not good weather. There were mists, then there were Scots mists—the sort a man could practically reach out and hold in his hand. This was a proper Scots mist, and he thanked God he was back home to feel it.

His ship had gone off course in a storm, and they’d pulled into the nearest harbor, far short of Inverness, as had been the plan. Any harbor would have done rather than face any more of the storm’s fury, so he had no complaint except one—he could not see his own hands before him, let alone the road. But through gaps in the mist now and then, he caught glimpses of road beaten down by the hooves of cattle and horses that had trodden the path over the years. He gave his horse a pat on the neck. At least one of them seemed to know the way, and for that, Gowan was grateful.

It was not his own home he sought. He’d lost that, or what was left of it, before he left.

When the laird’s son threatened his family, his father fought back and lost. The sun had risen and burned through the clouds as Gowan held his lifeless father and cursed the laird and his men. His mother had soon followed her husband, leaving Gowan alone with his grief.

He’d buried his parents and left with one goal in mind. He would go off to war and fight as a mercenary with all the rage that burned in his soul. Beyond that, he made no plans, for to do so required hope for the future, and he had none. He expected no more from life than to die in battle. But instead, he had lived, and he would do so alone, for he would not wish his life on a family.

Having reconciled himself to the life before him, Gowan carried the key to his future. The letter of introduction in his sporran promised to secure him a place, if not forever, then temporarily. It was a chance to find a new home, but it was not without cost. He had made a promise—a solemn vow, Robert had called it. He had made Gowan take an oath on his dirk that he would look after Robert’s sister, Morna.

Their mother had died giving birth to her, and Morna had suffered the blame for that death. She was never abused or neglected but was simply left feeling unloved by anyone except Robert.

Gowan had no delusions of what his place would be at Robert’s home. The best he could hope for would be for the laird to grant him a position in his castle guard. From there, Gowan would be able to keep an eye on Morna. How hard could it be to offer kindness now and then or a dance when he saw the poor wallflower alone at a ceilidh. From what Robert told him about her, such kindness would be easy. She had always been a reticent girl who spent too much time alone but without complaint. Looking after her would be no harder than having a sister, something he’d never had. With no family of his own, he looked forward to it.

Through the mist came the sound of water tripping over stones. His horse needed little urging to draw closer to drink. In the gaps in the mist, Gowan caught sight of a meandering brook that fed into a small pool. He dismounted to lead his horse to it. While his horse drank, Gowan took a few steps away and relieved himself. As he stood there, he spied something light at the edge of the water. When he was finished, he walked over, knelt down on one knee, and picked up the folded cloth to examine it. Roughly woven and well worn, it was the typical garb of a crofter. He looked up, clothing still wadded in his hand. When he could not find anyone, alarm seized him. Is the person who shed these clothes drowning? Or worse, has it already happened? He started to take a step forward but was stopped by a cold metal blade pressed against his neck.

ChapterTwo

Gowan cursed his folly at letting his guard down. Have I survived war only to return home and meet my demise at the hands of a bloody bandit?

He lowered his eyes and caught a sideways look at the arm holding the blade. With a hand so small and smooth, he could be no more than a lad.

Gowan watched the hand, for it was all he could see to judge any reaction. “I’ve naught but a few coins, but they’re yours if you’ll kindly remove that knife from my neck.” By the time he had finished the sentence, he had flipped the boy over and was rewarded with a well-deserved grunt as the wind was knocked out of him… her.

She covered her naked body as well as she could with her hands while Gowan came to his senses. When he realized he was holding her clothes in his hand, he tossed her the bundle. While she scrambled to get dressed, he managed to retrieve the dirk she had dropped when she fell. With that safely stowed in his belt, he stood, arms folded, while she finished scrambling to clothe herself and stand up to face him.

Other than having pressed her knife to his neck, she posed little threat now, so he thought they might come to some sort of agreement—one that did not involve stabbing or robbing. “Look, lass, I’m willing to overlook your assault⁠—”

She threw herself at him and knocked him to the ground.

“My God!” He rolled on top of her and pinned her wrists to the ground. “Och! You’re a wee bit high-strung.” He struggled to keep her from lashing out at him again.

Suddenly, she stopped and looked straight at him. She was no match for his strength, and something in her eyes told him she knew it. He could almost see her thinking and planning her next move. When he’d thoroughly immobilized her, she averted her eyes, clenching her jaw. She appeared to be bracing herself.

When he realized for what, the thought shocked him. Gowan said, “Whatever you might think, I’m not going to hurt you.”

She cast a harsh glare at him as though he were her enemy, when she was the one who had attacked him. Yet in her present predicament, he could hardly blame her for her apparent mistrust. There she lay, pinned beneath a strange man.

Seeing what she must have thought was hesitation, she began squirming beneath him to free herself. He watched her in disbelief. Does she really think she can prevail in this struggle? She lifted her eyes, which were full of fear and mistrust. For a moment, Gowan lost himself in those lovely brown pools. His eyes swept over her face and her hair, which were both smooth as silk. He was suddenly moved to kiss her.

Gowan abruptly stood up and helped her to her feet while he kept a firm grasp on her wrists. He studied her face, which had softened. Clearly, she realized that since he had not attacked her, pursuing her hopeless assault on him would not end to her advantage. Gowan exhaled.

The young woman thrust a knee into his groin.

“Oof!” While he bent over and his hands went to the source of the pain, she punched him in the jaw. Gowan clamped his hand on her wrist before she could withdraw it, then he flipped her around so her back faced him. He circled his other arm around her waist while she clawed and scratched his forearm.

“Good God, lass. I’m trying not to hurt you, but you dinnae make it easy.” Annoyed more than angry, he finally managed to immobilize her… again. At last, she seemed to have surrendered the fight.

While he was still holding her from behind, his lips brushed her hair, and his train of thought escaped him. The next moment, he said, “Can we talk about this?”

She scoffed. “Talk?”

Gowan frowned in disbelief. “Aye! To begin with, you stuck a blade into my neck, so you ought to be grateful.”

“Grateful?”

From the bitter tone of her voice, he surmised she was not. He looked up to the heavens and sighed. He had no further interest in sparring with her, so he said plainly, “Anyone else would have killed you by now.”

“Not if I killed them first.”

“Great God, must you be so combative? I’ll not harm you unless you force me to it.”

“Oh, aye, and how might I do that? By living and breathing, no doubt.” Her words were bold, but he could feel her heart pounding. He loosened his grip and turned her around to face him.

Gowan leveled a steady gaze. “Stabbing at me with knives tends to make me a bit crabbit. I’ll not be sorry for defending myself from your assault.”

She lifted her chin. “You’re on Innes land, so I had every right.”

“You’re an Innes?” That meant he was close to Robert’s home.

But before he could inquire further, she bristled. “Aye, and I have but to scream, and you’ll have the whole Innes clan here to answer to.”

Yet she had not called for assistance, which weakened her claim. Not that he blamed her for lying. Despite his assurances, she clearly felt threatened yet put up a bold front. Gowan’s eyes lit as he suppressed a smile.

Fire flared in her eyes. “You find that amusing?”

He forced his eyebrows together and tried to look serious. “No, not at all.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Aye, well, I suggest you laugh your way off Innes land before anyone finds us—you—here.”

“In truth, I’m bound for Innes House. Can you point me in that direction?”

Annoyance replaced her apprehension. “Why should I?”

Gowan sighed. “Because I’m asking?”

“You might have tried asking before you pinned me to the ground!” Her glaring brown eyes did more damage than that dirk of hers could ever manage at her hand.

“In self-defense.”

“You might have caused serious bodily harm.”

“Lass, if I’d wanted to harm you, I’d have done it by now.”

“Dinnae ‘lass’ me.”

Gowan ran his fingers through his wavy dark hair. “Och. You are a disagreeable lass.”

“Only with your sort.” She scowled.

“Oh, my sort, is it? And what sort is that?” He shrugged in disbelief and took a step back, shaking his head.

“The sort who throws ladies on the ground then pins them there with their filthy paws.”

Now that was uncalled for. He looked down and turned his hands over. Well, there might be some truth to her words. “Aye, well, it so happens that I was about to rinse off my hands in that stream when you poked your dirk at my neck, so the state of my hands is your fault, not mine. Which reminds me, what were you thinking—attacking a man a head taller than you? Not that I’m one to boast, but a wee lass like yourself stands no chance against me.”

“Just because something seems impossible doesnae mean you shouldnae try.” Her nostrils were flaring, which was not her best look.

“Charming. When you get home, be sure and stitch that up on a needlework sampler.”

Her eyes flared. He seemed to have touched a raw nerve. Despite taking a bit of pleasure from that, Gowan had had enough social discourse. He turned to retrieve his horse and be on his way when she landed a punch to his kidney. With a grunt of pain, he grabbed hold of her wrist and looked skyward. He’d gone to war, trained hard off the field between battles, and there he was, being pummeled by a wee lass. It was his fault for underestimating her.

While he contemplated where their little encounter had gone so horribly wrong, she said, “I hate needlework.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.”

“And I attacked you because you took my clothes, and I couldnae go home without them.”

He cocked his head to the side, which was as close as he was inclined to go toward admitting that she’d made a good point.

She appeared to have finished making her point, so Gowan said, “I did have your clothes, so I can understand how you might have felt the need to take action. I dinnae expect you to believe me, but when I came upon them, I feared that you’d drowned. I was trying to help you.”

She lifted her chin as her eyebrows drew together.

He took that as a concession. “I am willing to overlook your assault on my person and release you—provided you promise to leave me alone.”

He waited, but she did not reply.

“For God’s sake, lass, what more do you want? I’d have hurt you by now if I’d been so inclined.” He lowered his voice. “But I’m not. You have my word.”

Although she was silent, she hadn’t kicked, punched, or scratched. That was progress. He could not resist an admiring smile. “You put up a good fight⁠—”

Her eyes lit as she practically smiled.

Then he finished the thought. “For a lass.”

She slapped him in the face. “So do you.”

Now what? Can she not take a compliment? He shrugged. There was no understanding some people.

She narrowed her eyes then put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. A horse emerged from the woods.

He couldn’t help but admire her. She had more combat skill than any lass he’d known—and some lads—and she’d trained her horse well. But it wasn’t her skill that intrigued him at the moment. A curving plait of hair languidly draped over her shoulder had fallen to reveal a bare, satin-skinned path from her neck to her shoulder. He resisted an impulse to reach out to touch it.

She gave her horse a pat on the neck and prepared to mount it and ride off. It would have been a spectacular exit had she been able to accomplish it. Instead, she groaned in pain, leaned on the horse for a moment, tried again, then cursed.

“Are you hurt?” Without thinking, he stretched his fingers out to touch her.

She turned around to face him with eyes filled with fury. What a beauty she was, even in anger. “It’s my back.”

Her pained expression softened his heart. “May I help you?”

The girl drew her eyebrows together as she averted her gaze. It must have killed her to say it. “If you would. Please.”

“You’ll not stab me, will you?”

“Och! You’re impossibly vexing.”

Gowan began to reach out then withdrew his hand. “I must wash my hands first. I’ve been told that they’re filthy.”

She scoffed and grabbed hold of his shoulder.

He tilted his head. “Although you’re the one doing most of the touching. Not that I blame you for not being able to keep your hands off me, but still…”

Before she could react, Gowan hoisted her into the saddle. He folded his arms and enjoyed her reaction. It was practically worth the inconvenience of the earlier knife to the neck and subsequent blows just to watch and lay odds as to when steam would come out of her ears.

“Good day, sir.” She turned abruptly and rode off.

“Was it something I said?” Gowan watched as she rode away. “Lovely lass. ‘Tis a shame she’s so shy.”

ChapterThree

The midmorning sun burned off the fog to reveal a castle, just as Robert had described it. It had to be Innes House. After presenting his letter of introduction as proof to the guards that he was, indeed, bringing word of the laird’s son, Robert Innes, they opened the gate. He was taken to the parlor and left alone there with the laird. When Malcolm Innes turned from the window to greet him, the sight took Gowan by surprise. The same eyes he had come to know well now looked back into his with the sort of calm bearing only a powerful man could afford. That formidable stance and broad shoulders had served his son well to the end.

“Forgive me, sir, but the resemblance caught me off guard.”

“Aye?” He peered at Gowan with assessing eyes.

“Robert and I fought side by side in the war of Austrian Succession.” Gowan paused, knowing news of his son’s fate could not have reached the laird yet.

The fixed gaze that met his held the inevitable conclusion of what Gowan’s visit must mean for his son, and the light faded from Malcolm’s eyes. “You fought beside Robert. Yet you’ve come here alone.”

“Aye, sir. I’m sorry. I bring sad news… of Robert.” As much as he had imagined this moment, he still stumbled over the words. He handed Robert’s sgian-achlais to Malcolm.

Malcolm stared at the knife. “I gave this to him when he was a lad.” He ran his thumb over the worn and stained leather-bound dirk handle that bore the Clan Innes crest. He took a breath and said curtly, “So he’s gone, then.” His expression hardened as he lifted cold eyes to meet Gowan’s. “How do I ken you didnae just take this from his dead body in battle?”

“He said you would say that.” Gowan held the man’s gaze as he handed him the letter. “He wrote this in case anything happened. And he told me to tell you that the bearer of this blade spoke the truth just as surely as Robert always had done—including the time he told you about the lass in the village.”

Malcolm cast a sharp look at Gowan.

Gowan hastened to add, “I only repeat what he said to relay to you.” Robert had warned him to expect a reaction.