Rescued by Her Highland Soldier Read online

  For all his chivalrous actions toward her yesterday and his handsome good looks, Grant Rathmore was a stranger.

  She narrowed her eyes to regard him and was taken aback when he laughed suddenly.

  “You would very much like to tell me to go to the devil, would you not? I confess I would like to do the same to you! I do not know when I have ever met such a stubborn lass and one so determined to have her own way. But you hired me to escort you and I cannot, will not, allow you to ride into danger.”

  Still she hesitated, and after a moment he exhaled, looking up at the sky before turning to address her again.

  “You are not in Inverness now, Miss d’Evremont. You are a stranger to this country, but I am a Highlander. I understand this land and its people. I know how best to keep you safe. Trust me in this.”

  Could she trust him? Madeleine looked into his eyes. Instinct said she could do so, but her head urged caution. True, he had saved her honor, perhaps even her life, yesterday, but she knew nothing of him. But what choice did she have, other than to turn him away and proceed alone?

  “Very well, sir, we will go your way.”

  Author Note

  Even before I finished writing my first Highland romance, Forbidden to the Highland Laird, I knew that I wanted to revisit the Rathmore family. Logan and Ailsa’s son, Grant, came of age at a very turbulent time in Scottish history. By his twenty-third birthday he is already a seasoned—if reluctant—soldier, having followed Bonnie Prince Charlie into England and back to Culloden, where the Jacobites suffered their overwhelming defeat on Drumossie Moor. It was the end of the Jacobite dream.

  Grant survives Culloden, but he knows he cannot go home, nor can he stay in the Highlands, where the rebels are paying a terrible price for the uprising. However, rescuing Madeleine d’Evremont from attack gives him a purpose, to see the lady safely out of the country, but as they try to find their way to the coast, he discovers that Madeleine is far from a helpless damsel in distress; she has skills and courage that make her a perfect match for a Highlander.

  Taking Grant and Madeleine on a perilous journey through the Highlands of Scotland was a challenge. Based on actual history, the story could have been unremittingly grim, but hidden among the bare facts, there are cheering tales of heroism and even laughter, which allowed me to give Madeleine and Grant the happy ending they deserve.

  I do hope you enjoy their story.

  SARAH MALLORY

  Rescued by Her Highland Soldier

  Sarah Mallory grew up in the West Country, England, telling stories. She moved to Yorkshire with her young family, but after nearly thirty years living in a farmhouse on the Pennines, she has now moved to live by the sea in Scotland. Sarah is an award-winning novelist with more than twenty books published by Harlequin Historical. She loves to hear from readers; you can reach her via her website at sarahmallory.com.

  Books by Sarah Mallory

  Harlequin Historical

  The Scarlet Gown

  Never Trust a Rebel

  The Duke’s Secret Heir

  Pursued for the Viscount’s Vengeance

  His Countess for a Week

  The Mysterious Miss Fairchild

  Lairds of Ardvarrick

  Forbidden to the Highland Laird

  Rescued by Her Highland Soldier

  Saved from Disgrace

  The Ton’s Most Notorious Rake

  Beauty and the Brooding Lord

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  To my writer friends everywhere, for helping me stay sane and motivated in 2020, when I was writing this book.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Kidnapped by the Viking by Caitlin Crews

  Chapter One

  May 1746

  The night sky was a gruesome mix of black and red. Behind him, the darkness was black as pitch, but from his hiding place beneath the gorse Grant could see the village, or what was left of it. He watched the angry flames leaping from the roofs and windows, and listened to the cries of the cottars, men, women and children, their screams cut short as the redcoats put them to the sword. Every one of them and without mercy.

  Grant felt the bile rise in his throat. He wanted to charge to the rescue, to use his broadsword to slash and kill the soldiers, but there were more than a dozen of them. He had learned a great deal about fighting in the past six months as he followed Charles Stuart into England and back again and he knew that to show himself now would be a futile gesture, he would be just one more body left to rot in the glen. One more victim of the Duke of Cumberland’s retribution. Keeping low, he turned and began to make his way back through the gorse and into the darkness. Better to live and fight another day.

  * * *

  Maddie opened her eyes and stared at the faded hangings around her bed. This was not the lodgings in Inverness that had been her home for the past twelve months, but that was not what caused her to feel uneasy. It was the unusual silence and stillness within the room.

  She pushed back the hangings and saw immediately that the truckle bed in the corner was empty. Slipping out of her own bed, she went over to it. The rumpled sheets were cold, suggesting that Edie, her maid, had left it some time ago. A quick glance showed her that the cloth bag Edie used for her possessions had gone, too. It was inevitable really. They were but three miles from Edie’s home and she should not be surprised that her maid had left and gone back to her family.

  Maddie dressed quickly and went downstairs, where she soon confirmed that the maid was not in the building. And she had taken the pony.

  ‘I remember her saying yester evening that she had family in this area,’ said the landlady, serving Maddie with her breakfast. ‘Perhaps she has gone a-visiting.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  It was unlikely, since the maid had left no word, but Madeleine wanted to believe it. She remained at the inn for as long as she dared, but at last she knew she must move on. The landlady looked concerned when Maddie asked to have her pony saddled.

  ‘You’ll never be riding off alone, mistress,’ she exclaimed, shocked. ‘It isn’t safe for ye, what with the redcoats everywhere.’

  ‘I have no choice,’ replied Madeleine. ‘I cannot go back to Inverness. Since the battle, the area has been crawling with redcoats. But neither can I stay here.’

  ‘No, that is true enough.’ The landlady sighed and gave her a pitying look. ‘Ye must move on, but it would be dangerous to use the road, for you are sure to meet soldiers if you do. There is an old track not half a mile from here that will take you across the hills to the next change house at Kildrummy. Young Robbie, the groom, will set you on your way.’

  * * *

  Two hours later Maddie bade farewell to the groom, tossed him a coin and turned her horse on to the barely discernible track. She was well aware that soldiers of Charles Stuart’s army who had escaped the carnage of Culloden might well be hiding in the hills, but s
he was sure they posed less of a threat than the marauding government troops who were terrorising the country.

  * * *

  It was growing dark by the time Grant arrived at the change house. A couple were standing outside and they watched his approach with anxious eyes. Not unexpected, he thought, in these troubled times. Any stranger was a threat, even one dressed as a gentleman—albeit a ragged one—in top boots, breeches and a riding jacket.

  When they would have turned away, he hailed them cheerfully.

  ‘Good day to you! Would you be the landlord, sir?’

  ‘Aye.’

  It was a cautious reply, but Grant was not deterred.

  ‘I wonder if I might get a little food here.’ He gave a shrug and a wry smile. ‘I would willingly work for my supper. I can clean out the stables, cut you some peat, or chop logs for your fire.’

  ‘I—’

  The man’s response was cut short by raised voices from inside the inn and the sound of smashing crockery. Grant’s brows rose.

  ‘That will be the soldiers.’ The landlord looked nervous. ‘Three of them.’

  ‘Ah. Then perhaps I should wait.’ He had barely finished speaking when a woman screamed.

  Without hesitating, Grant dragged out his sword. He pushed past the landlord and strode into the inn. A redcoat was in the narrow passageway, leaning against a closed door and drinking from a wine bottle. Grant quickly lowered his sword arm so the weapon was concealed by the skirts of his coat. The soldier spotted Grant and pushed himself upright, swaying slightly.

  ‘Try the taproom at the back of the house,’ he said, his words slurring together. ‘The parlour’s occupied. My friends are taking their pleasure.’ Another cry rang out and he bared his teeth in a lecherous grin, his hand going to his crotch. ‘I’ll be getting my turn next.’

  Grant came closer, smiling. ‘Lucky fellow.’

  The man never noticed the swinging sword hilt until it caught him squarely on the jaw. He reeled away, already unconscious, and Grant neatly caught the bottle as it fell from his hand. Pausing only to remove the fellow’s sword and drop it and the bottle out of sight behind a wooden bench, he stepped over the inert body and went into the parlour.

  He took in the scene in one glance: discarded red coats, swords and belts thrown over a chair, muskets resting against the wall by the door. One man slumped in a corner, a bloody handkerchief pressed to his head. A second soldier struggling with a woman, forcing her back over a table.

  Grant fell upon the attacker, dragging him off the woman and giving him a blow that sent him crashing to the floor, where he joined the plates and tankards already scattered there. The other soldier struggled to his feet, but Grant was standing, sword in hand, between him and the weapons.

  ‘You are wise to hesitate, I’d like nothing more than to run you through. You are a disgrace to your uniform. Damme, sir, if I was your commanding officer I would have you flogged!’

  Grant’s clipped English speech and natural authority had its effect—the man glared at him, sullen but wary. The other soldier was stirring and Grant nodded towards him.

  ‘Help your friend to his feet.’ He picked up the coats and tossed them across. ‘Here. You will find your guard in the passage, senseless with drink. Leave this place and take him with you.’

  ‘But we cannot leave without our arms,’ protested one.

  ‘You can take the muskets, nothing more.’

  The men looked at him, aghast.

  ‘No cartridges? We will be virtually unarmed!’

  ‘Aye, so you’d best rejoin your regiment with all speed,’ Grant replied coldly. ‘If you make it back alive, you may refer your commander to me, I am Colonel Rathmore of the Fourteenth. Now get out before I change my mind and kill you anyway.’

  Such was his assurance the men did not question him. They shambled out of the room and closed the door behind them. Grant listened to the sounds from the passage, then moved to the window, watching until he saw the men riding away. Only then did he turn his attention to the woman.

  She was still leaning against the table, but she had straightened her disordered gown and was currently engaged in retying the ribbon around her dusky curls. All the time she was watching him, her eyes wary. Deep blue eyes, he noted, like the colour of Loch Ardvarrick on a summer’s day.

  ‘Madam, are you hurt?’

  ‘I am not,’ she told him brusquely. She added, as an afterthought, ‘I am obliged to you.’

  ‘Pray think nothing of it,’ he said politely.

  ‘But it was three against one.’

  ‘Two,’ he corrected her, smiling a little. ‘You had already dealt with one rogue, had you not?’

  ‘I broke a water pitcher over his head.’

  ‘Good for you.’ He righted an upturned chair and set it before her. ‘You are very pale. Understandably so, in the circumstances. Will you not sit down and I will fetch you a glass of wine?’

  ‘I do not think—’

  ‘You need not be fearing they will return for a while,’ he interrupted her. ‘It will take them some time to reach their quarters and even more to discover I duped them.’

  His voice had slipped back into a softer, Highland lilt and she frowned at him.

  ‘You are not Colonel Rathmore?’

  ‘I am not even an Englishman.’ Grant shrugged. ‘Well, my grandmother was English, but I hold no affinity with that country. I was not sure they would believe me, but they are young and inexperienced.’

  ‘They were also vilely drunk!’

  ‘Yes, which made it easier to overpower them.’ He said again, ‘Will you not sit down, madam?’

  Madeleine hesitated. The terror was fading and this man, rough as he looked, spoke gently. His face was covered with thick, dark stubble, suggesting it had not seen a razor for some time, but that was not unusual. Mayhap he was an honest traveller, although in her experience, there were precious few of those around.

  At that moment he intercepted her appraising look and smiled. For the first time she noticed the golden flecks in his deep brown eyes and she could see only kindness and concern in his face. Madeleine wanted to trust him and decided to do so, at least, for the moment. She perched herself on the edge of the chair.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I will find our host and tell him to bring in some wine.’

  When he had left the room she felt a slight resurgence of fear and crossed her arms tightly, willing herself not to tremble. Her gown was not torn, but she could still feel the soldiers’ hands scrabbling at her bodice and dragging up her skirts. She felt dirty, unclean, but the thought of bathing was inconceivable. She had no maid, no one to guard her door. She was very much alone.

  Her thoughts went back to her rescuer. He had seen off her attackers, but to what purpose? It was a month since the government troops had routed the Jacobite army and the land was crawling with soldiers, both hunters and the hunted. The victorious army was scouring the land, pursuing their enemy with a ferocity that left everyone in fear of their lives. No one was safe, as she had discovered.

  She flinched as the door opened.

  ‘I beg your pardon—did I startle you?’ The man came in carrying a bottle and two glasses. ‘I thought it would be quicker to bring these myself. The landlord has set the tap boy and stable hands to keep watch, just in case our friends should return.’

  ‘Are you sure he is not in league with them?’ she replied, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. ‘He did nothing to help me.’

  ‘The poor man was terrified. He was afraid for his wife and children, too.’ He filled the glasses and handed one to her. ‘They are trying to make up for it now and are busy in the kitchens, organising dinner for you.’

  ‘For me?’ She watched him over the rim of her glass. ‘And what of you, sir, do you not eat?’

  ‘Later, perhaps.’ She did
not miss his slight hesitation, the way his hand flattened against his coat pocket. Could it be he had no money?

  ‘You might dine in here,’ she suggested.

  He shook his head. ‘This is a private parlour and you have hired it.’

  ‘That is so, but after the service you have rendered me, the least I can do is to buy you dinner.’ When he hesitated, she added, ‘I should be grateful, too. I would rather not eat alone tonight.’

  ‘Very well, I shall accept your offer and thank you for it, ma’am.’ He glanced around, his mouth twisting. ‘The landlord has promised to send the maid in before too long. She will clear up the room and prepare the table.’

  ‘Good. We may tell her then to set another place for you. In the meantime, perhaps you, too, will take a chair.’ She waved him to a seat. ‘I should like to know to whom I am indebted?’

  ‘I am Grant Rathmore, ma’am, of Ardvarrick, but there is no debt.’

  ‘You are very kind, Mr Rathmore.’

  ‘I am also curious,’ he said bluntly. ‘I should like to know what you are doing here, alone and unaccompanied.’

  Madeleine inclined her head, thinking quickly. She decided the truth would serve her best, although she would tell him as little as possible.

  ‘My name is Madeleine d’Evremont.’

  ‘The landlord tells me you are travelling alone, Mistress d’Evremont. Is that wise?’

  She bridled at that. ‘Of course it is not wise! My maid was with me when I left Inverness, but when we reached Balvenie, she slipped away. Her family live nearby and I suspect she has returned to them.’

  ‘Forgive me, madam, but a lady, even one accompanied by her maid, should not be travelling without an escort.’

  ‘I can take care of myself!’ Recalling what had just occurred, how he had rescued her, she realised that sounded very foolish. ‘In general I am very capable of looking after myself,’ she amended. ‘However, I have no choice but to continue my journey.’