Highlander’s Wicked Temptation: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel by Maddie MacKenna (best feel good books .TXT) 📕

was magnificent, there was no doubt about it, with walls that towered far above any that Maeve had ever seen, and as they got closer, the towering walls blocked out the sky. Yet, Maeve could also see that the roughly hewn walls were in a state of disrepair like the Castle was an old man who had not taken care of himself.

That all evaporated when they rode through the front gates. Gregor had told her that the town lay on the other side of the Castle, but he had not told her about the central courtyard. Once they were inside, he sent Henry off with Douglas to get more treatment for the latter.

“It’s bigger than me village,” gasped Maeve. She looked around at the people, the buildings, the stalls, and the busyness of it all. It was all too much to take in. There was so much to see, so much to do, and so many people to meet, and for the first time since she had left her village, Maeve broke out into a genuinely joyful smile. She could feel the bubbliness coming back, the same feeling she had had when she was growing up in the village and helping people.

“With so many people to help, I can make a real difference here,” whispered Maeve.

“I’m nae going to respond,” said Gregor as he slowed his horse. “I dinnae think that ye are talkin’ to me, but dinnae get all yer hopes up until the Laird has made his final decision. It’s him we’ll see as soon as we can.”

“I didnae mean—”

“Dinnae worry, Lass,” interrupted Gregor. “We’ll see him soon; he’ll be happy nae to have lost a good man to the bandits, that’ll put ye in good stead.”

A young boy ran past, sprinting as fast as he could after a chicken that was clucking in happy freedom. The boy soon captured the creature and took it back to the stall, the freedom all but over. Soon it would be sold and on someone’s table for supper.

When they passed one wooden table, Maeve could smell all kinds of spices, herbs, and sweet liquids. Most, she could place, but there were some that were foreign to her. She tried to remember exactly where the table was so that she could come back to it when she had a chance.

Gregor dismounted and helped Maeve from the horse. Maeve took one more look around, trying to take everything in; the sound of people bartering over their wares, the crashing of wood on metal as bowls toppled from a barrel, the constant chanting that had something to do with soup, the aroma of freshly roasted pheasant, and the gentle murmur of people who were satisfied with their lives.

She was led into the Castle and through winding hallways of stone, dimly lit with flickering torches.

“Me Laird,” said Gregor when they reached the entrance to the large hall.

“Aye, aye,” said the Laird, and that was enough for Gregor to stride in, Maeve struggling to keep up behind him. When she got to the center of the room, Maeve could see the Laird sitting on a large chair near the back. She lost her breath immediately. The chair and room gave him a more imposing look, but his handsomeness would have set him apart no matter where he sat.

Cillian Morris was tall, even sitting down, and his muscular body quickly showed, even though he wore loose-fitting clothes. Soft, brown curls tumbled around his face and his keen green eyes looked straight into Maeve’s heart. She almost stumbled for a second, regaining her composure, only she aware that she had lost it.

Maeve searched her thoughts, trying to remember what she was going to say to convince the Laird that she was the right person for the job, and forgot about the soldier she had healed. She almost blurted out how handsome the Laird was.

“Well,” said the Laird. He rose from the chair and grabbed the cane that was leaning against the arm, unnoticed by Maeve at first. He limped forward a couple of steps, and Maeve could clearly see that he was missing his lower leg, everything below the knee. From the way that he walked and the pained expression on his face, she could see the toll that it took on him.

The change unnerved her. In his chair, he had looked like a king; strong and formidable, a man who would lead people into battle, and that thought in Maeve’s head was not far from the truth. He was that man, once. But, as he stood, the strength and power fell from him. It was not just the bottom part of his leg that he had lost, it was something else, Maeve could clearly see that.

As Cillian stood, he slumped a little. The slump had nothing to do with the loss of part of his leg. It was as if he was carrying a heavy weight, and did not want to put it down, nor did he want any help, but Maeve knew that she could help him, and inspiration filled her once more, her confidence returning, and her smile.

Maeve unslung her bag and rummaged inside. “I have just the thing. I can fix ye right up.”

“Fix me?” The words came out labored and quiet, as if the Laird could not understand why someone would say such a thing. When Maeve looked up, she could see that she had struck a nerve. She had not meant it like that, she really hadn’t, the words had just tumbled out of her, but she knew that she had wounded his pride. The Laird’s face looked more pained than it had before, but this was not physical pain, it was the mental pain that he was carrying around.

If only I could help ye with that.

Maeve composed herself as quickly as she could. She was all in now, and there was no stopping her. “I mean help ye with the pain.”

“What has me pain got to do with it?” The Laird took