Highlander's Castle (Highlander Heat #1)
Joanne Wadsworth
Chapter 1
On the way to the ruins of Dunscaith Castle, on the Isle of Skye.
Anne MacLeod tapped her tour brochure against the front headrest as they traveled the bumpy road. Beyond the windshield, the ruins of Dunscaith Castle perched on a low headland to the side of the twisting and isolated road.
“Dunscaith Castle is one of at least four named as such, and in this remote area of Scotland, it took brute strength for clan MacDonald to hold it,” her guide, Donald MacDonald, declared as he negotiated his way up the van’s cramped aisle toward the front.
“Donald, it says here that sometime in the fourteenth century the MacLeods took control of it.”
“They did, but the MacDonalds recaptured it again in the fifteenth century. There have been too many battles to count between my clan and yours here.” A slow grin broke across his face. “Even during this entire trip, you and I have found plenty to bicker about.”
“That’s because you love to prattle on about your kin so much.” MacDonalds. They were all impossible.
The heavy swell of the sea crashed into the cliff-face and sprayed the jagged ruins. Gray blocks of stone stood so heartbreakingly cold and alone, as she was on this tour. Goodness, how she’d have loved to have her parents by her side as she trekked through Scotland. They’d always longed to make the journey here, where centuries ago, their ancestors had lived. Even with all Donald’s jabbering, these ruins intrigued her. MacLeods had lived here, and history had decreed her own kin had walked these moors.
“Donald, we’re taking a look around, right?”
“Yes, we’ll stop soon.” He rubbed his jaw. “If you wish, you’ll hear far more about your ancestors if you take the Dunvegan Castle tour. The MacLeods have ruled there for over eight-hundred years.”
“Next week then. I’ll make sure I book another tour with you since we get along so well.”
He snorted a laugh. “You won’t find me taking tours to Dunvegan. I leave that for one of their own. Come everyone. We’re about to stop. It’s blustery out so wrap up.”
She hoisted to her feet, edged past Donald and tapped the kind elderly driver on the shoulder. “How safe are the ruins to walk around, William?”
“Not too bad. You’ll have to mind the cliff’s edge as you wander about since there’s a gap of six meters or so between the mainland and the rock the castle sits on. The walled bridge arching between the two is unstable, and it’s best to take the beach access. We’ll be here for an hour. Do you have something warmer to put on over that blouse?” He wore thick corduroy trousers and a brown-speckled woolen jersey.
She patted her red ankle-length woven skirt, which she’d bought her first day after discovering how shockingly cold Scotland’s weather could be. “I sure do. I can’t wait to get out there and take a look around.”
“I’ll see to that now then.” William indicated then jerked over to the side of the road. “There’s nothing like having one of your kin here to stir up some excitement. Keep Donald on his toes. My son needs the adventure.”
“Dad, please. Don’t beg trouble.” Donald shoved open the side door and stepped out. The brisk breeze tossed his dark locks across his face as he fastened his coat. Her tour was run by a private family firm, and without her own family, she’d jumped at the chance to join Donald and William’s.
“Thank you, William. Adventure is my middle name.” She nabbed her red woolen coat from the back of her seat, hurried to the door and stepped onto the crumbly edged blacktop.
The salty scent of the sea tickled her nose. Fog clung to its choppy blue-green surface, a layer of it rolling in with the surging waves. The brisk Highland wind rushed at her, and she flicked up her collar. Scotland was so cold, nothing like New Zealand. At home she barely even wore a coat, yet here she’d likely need one all year round. How had her ancestors coped with living on this beautiful, yet ruggedly cold land?
“Where does your family hail from?” Buttoning his coat as he leaned against the side of the van, Donald eyed her. “You’ve quite the accent for a MacLeod.”
“Didn’t I tell you I’m from Down Under?”
“Australia?”
“No, a little further down than that.”
“Antarctica?” Donald was such a tease. “Oh, you mean New Zealand?”
“Funny, and yes. You know, back home they have a name for someone like you?”
“What’s that?”
“A pest.”
He burst into laughter. “I’ll get you back for that later.”