Quinn Paula - Highland Heartbreakers

Highland Series Starters, Volume One

Paula Quinn, Caroline Lee, Violetta Rand, Anna Markland, Victoria Vane

Copyright 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019 by Paula Quinn, Caroline Lee, Violetta Rand, Anna Markland, Victoria Vane

Kindle Edition

Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

by Paula Quinn

by Caroline Lee

by Violetta Rand

by Anna Markland

by Victoria Vane

by Violetta Rand

Hearts of the Highlands
Book One

Paula Quinn

Prologue

Bannockburn, Scotland

The Year of Our Lord 1314

C ainnech MacPherson, second Highland commander to King Robert the Bruce, smashed his shield into an English soldiers chest, knocking him to the ground. Cainnech dropped his shield, put his boot on the soldiers belly, and lifted his spear in both hands.

He looked down into the eyes of his enemy. His stomach should have twisted at what he saw. But it didnt. Hed seen it thousands of times before. Killing another man was a nasty task that took its toll on the soul. One either learned to live with it or hesitate and die.

He brought down his pike into the soldiers chest.

A warm breeze passed over him. It reeked of blood and piss and purpose. Comforted by the familiarity of it, he yanked his spear free of bone and chainmail and freed his axe from his belt. He swung it upward while he turned on another soldier coming up behind him. His axe caught the soldier under the chin, splashing blood across Cains face and giving deeper color to the glacial blue of his eyes. His gaze raked over the battle going on around him. The English forces were dwindling. Their cavalry was trying to make their way toward the hill.

He left his axe where it had landed and bent to take the dead soldiers sword from the mans fingers. He used it to hack several more men out of his way until he had a clear line of vision to Father Timothy waiting in the mist.

He followed the priests gaze across the ferocious melee from whence hed just come, toward the woods where Thomas Randolph, the kings nephew, brought his schiltron, or shield wall, out of the trees.

Cain took a moment to appreciate their perfect formation and to enjoy the surprise on the faces of the English as the Scots hemmed them in.

He took it all in, glad to be a part of it. Hed waited long enough. It was time to win Scotlands independenceand his own.

He picked up a shield and pounded his sword against it, then shouted for his men to make formation.

They fell in smoothly, killing everyone in their way, and formed an impenetrable wall, weapons pointed at the English.

Cain took his place in the front line, eager to fight, to show the English the monsters theyd unleashed.

Pushing his shoulder against his shield, he prepared to give the order to move when he saw Father Timothy shoving his way to the front.

What the hell are ye doin here? Cain demanded.

I am here to help, the small, bald-headed priest replied calmly against his shield.

It was the same thing hed said sixteen years ago when hed found a seven-year-old Cain huddled against the tree from which he was tied.

I dinna need yer help, old man. Now get back to the

Ye should give the order to move now, Commander, the priest offered in a softer tone. The men are waitin.

Cain scowled, knowing the priest was correct. This wasnt the time to argue. His men were ready and awaiting his order. Move! he shouted. On them! On the English! Ye! He turned to Father Timothy. Go back! Dinna let me see ye here again.

He didnt wait to see if the priest obeyed him or not. Every man in his regiment obeyed him. They trusted him with their livesand somehow hed always managed to keep them alive.

They charged as one living, moving entity, four hundred strong, decimating Edwards infantry.

Cain yanked his sword free from over two dozen men before he found a moment to turn to the one who would likely get him killed.

What dye mean by disobeyin me, Father? I told ye to go back!

I obey the good Lord. Not ye, Cainnech, the priest answered, unruffled by a glare that was said to stop the hearts of the English.

Oh? Cain asked, tightlipped. And the good Lord wants ye to fight? To kill?

Father Timothys brown eyes were large as he smiled, exposing old, yellowing, but straight teeth. Some are called to carry out His judgment.

Hell! Again, this wasnt the time to argue with the old fool! Cain respected King Robert and hed give his life in battle for any one of his men. But hed cared deeply for only one person in the last sixteen years. He wasnt about to let Father Timothy put his life into the hands of something or someone Cain could not see.

Without wasting another moment, Cain went to Father Timothy, grasped him by the back of his robes, and pulled him into the fray. He made certain nothing came too close to the priest while he swung his sword and hacked away at the English with one hand.

Covered in the blood of his enemies and dragging a sword-wielding priest behind him, he set his course toward the hill and joined forces with Thomas Randolphs men to drive the English cavalry into the marshes. The Bruces regiment took the English from the south, where the English king retreated.

Aye, run! Father Timothy shouted. If ye know whats best fer ye, ye will never come back!

Cain glanced at him and then continued on toward a clearing in which to collapse without falling on a bodyor into the marshes.

Theyd won. Theyd beaten the English before, but nothing like today. Cain hoped Englands King Edward was watching when King Robert brought down his battle axe on Sir Henry de Bohuns helmeted head, striking him dead.

Cain smiled, and not for the first time that day. Robert fought like a savage and Cain was proud to call him teacher.

But hell, he was exhausted. He just wanted to rest for a wee bit.

God has given us victory! the priest rejoiced.

Cain shook his head and held up his axe.

What dye think twill be like tomorrow? Father Timothy came up beside him and asked excitedly.

Ill let ye know when tis over.

Come on now, Cainnech. The priest joined him sitting in the grass.

Father Timothy never called him Cain. He claimed the weight of such a name created its own beast. Cain disagreed. Being raised in the English army, by the men whod killed his family, had created it.

This is it. Were close to independence. I want to be a part of the victory.

Ye are already a part of it, Cain assured him. Ye advise the king. Who else dye know who can say such a thing?

Ye, the priest told him. Ye advise him, as does the kings brother, his nephew, the

All right, Cain held up his hand. Never mind any of it. I have a few moments to rest and yere interruptin. Let me put this to ye bluntly, Father. Ye willna be joinin me, or any of the men on the field tomorrow. I will tie ye to a tree if I must. I willna have ye fightin. If anythin were toI consider ye my

Son, the priest said softly, taking pity on Cains stumbling tongue. Tomorrow is goin to be an historic day. God has shown me.

Ye see? Cain yawned and closed his eyes. Historic days usually involve many dyin.