Page 1 of To Claim His Highland Bride

Prologue

Loch Dunvegan, Isle of Skye, Scotland

September 15th, 1742

The morning breeze tugged at Rowena MacLeod’s hair as she stood alongside her one true love, Marcus, at the shore of Loch Dunvegan. Her brother, Alastair, and his wife, Gwendolyn, stood behind them at a distance, giving her and Marcus privacy as they said goodbye.

Rowena’s gaze strayed to Marcus’s ship in the distance. The Cliodna would take him away from her for the next year. “Must you go?” she asked with sudden despair. “I am content to live at Dunvegan Castle for the rest of our lives at the mercy of my brother if that’s what we must do in order to be together.” They could hide from their troubles with the MacDonald clan within the safety of her brother’s mighty fortress. They could carve out a niche of fairy-tale happiness away from all those who did not approve of a MacDonald marrying a MacLeod.

Marcus looked at her in surprise. “I’ll not be beholden to your clan for my livelihood—no matter how much I love you, Rowena. Every last bit of wealth I had I used to purchase The Cliodna. That ship is the only way forward for us both. Since I have no home, no clan, no funds to offer you, I have no choice but to leave. I must find my own way forward using the only thing that is truly mine—my ship.”

Rowena traced her fingertips over the muscles of Marcus’s chest and felt the beat of his heart beneath. After all that they’d been through together already, she had hope that a small part of his heart longed to stay beside her as much as she longed for him. “I could come with you.”

He took her in his arms. “The sea is an unforgiving mistress at times. I’ll not put your life in danger.”

“I’m not afraid of danger.” She tensed in his arms. Why did every person in her life think her incapable of enduring misfortune? They all wanted to keep her safe behind the walls of Dunvegan, as if she wasn’t strong or clever enough to protect herself. Hadn’t she recently proven that she was? Twice? Yet no one seemed to remember the moments of danger she’d come through unscathed. To them, she was a butterfly, too fragile and delicate for anything other than observation. Butterflies did not go to war, or out to sea, or even beyond the gates of Dunvegan without an escort. “I’m not fragile, Marcus. I can take whatever the sea has in store for me.”

“Rowena . . .” His voice became softer, more desperate. “I cannot take you with me, and I can only leave you if I know you are safe and protected with your brothers at Dunvegan. You know better than anyone what I must do to secure a better life for us both.”

Rowena clenched her jaw, wanting to argue, but knowing it would get her nowhere. Not when Marcus’s gaze held the ferocity it did now. Instead, she lifted her hands to his cheeks. “I wish Alastair had agreed to let us marry.”

Marcus lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with all the tenderness and passion mirrored in her own heart. But as he lifted his lips, a numb, empty feeling settled inside her. This was a goodbye kiss. No amount of arguing or kissing would change his mind. He was leaving her to secure a future for them.

The sea is an unforgiving mistress. Marcus’s words came back to her. The moment he left the shores of Dunvegan their future would be unknown. Marcus’s life would be in constant danger, not only from the sea, but from the dangerous activities of a privateer. She might never see him again.

An impending sense of loss swamped her as Rowena released her hold on Marcus to wrap her shaking limbs about herself.

“I will come back to you as soon as I am able.”

Rowena blinked to keep the tears back as the salt-laden breeze stirred her hair. She pulled her tartan shawl closer about her shoulders as the numbness she’d felt moments ago moved deeper inside her.

“I can delay my parting no longer,” Marcus said with a catch in his voice.

An instant before he turned towards the waiting boat that would take him out to his ship, Rowena saw Marcus’s face in sharp detail: his green eyes filled with sorrow, a strong jawline, his wide sensual mouth, the truant lock of dark brown hair that fluttered against his brow.

“I will wait for your return every night.” She pressed her lips together to keep herself from saying anything more. She would not plead with him to stay. He was convinced this was the only way forward for the two of them. Even though she tried to look at the water instead, her gaze moved back to Marcus, and the ache in her chest grew until it threatened to smother her.

With one last kiss, Marcus turned and headed for the boat. He shoved the boat away from the shore and leapt inside. Instead of watching him leave, she focused on the water of the loch. The waves rose gently and curled over a wash of foam, glittering in the early morning light as they slid against the beach before slipping back again. When she could avoid looking at Marcus no longer, her gaze lifted to see him standing in the boat with his fists at his sides, his face expressionless as the boat took him farther from her.

Gwendolyn and Alastair came to stand beside her. “I’ll take good care of her,” Alastair called to Marcus.

Marcus nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on Rowena as the oarsmen rowed the boat into the deeper waters where The Cliodna, Marcus’s brigantine, waited.

Rowena’s hair whipped in the wind as she watched his transfer boat disappear into the shadow of The Cliodna. Within minutes, sheets of the wide, white canvas were unfurled on her two tall masts, straining and swelling eagerly in the stiff winds. Marcus and his crew would be out into the open sea before the sun reached its zenith.

I will wait for you. Rowena let her tears fall even as they were snatched away by the wind. The look in Marcus’s eyes moments ago reflected his love for her, but a year changed people. Would he still feel the same when he returned to the shores of Dunvegan? If he returned at all? Would she? They had only the promise of a betrothal between them, but nothing beyond that.

Would that whispered agreement be enough to bind them together during his absence? Only time would tell . . .

Chapter One

North Sea, Isle of Skye, Scotland

September 30th, 1742

Marcus MacDonald turned his face into the wind and gazed at the point where the North Sea met the sky. Never had he imagined that being a MacDonald fighting for the MacLeods would secure his letters of marque so quickly. He and the crew of The Cliodna were now privateers and were authorised by the government to attack enemy ships for their own gain as they sailed off to make their fortunes.

They were heading north-east to the open waters of the Atlantic where they would be tested, Marcus was certain, not just by an unforgiving ocean, but also by the ships they would encounter. Marcus was new to the profession of seafarer and pirate, though as a MacDonald he’d seen his share of combat. His crew was in good hands with him as their captain, and with his first mate, Eckland MacFarlane, who’d been born to the sea. Between the two of them the souls aboard The Cliodna would be successful in their endeavours. They had to be. Marcus’s very existence and that of his soon-to-be bride depended on his success.