My Reckless Love Read online

  Table of 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

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  My Reckless Love

  Highland Loves

  Book One

  By

  Melissa Limoges

  Copyright © 2017 by Melissa Limoges

  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.

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  Vienna Woods

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  Blackhaven Brides Series by Mary Lancaster

  The Wicked Baron

  The Wicked Lady

  Highland Loves Series by Melissa Limoges

  My Reckless Love

  Clash of the Tartans Series by Anna Markland

  Kilty Secrets

  Queen of Thieves Series by Andy Peloquin

  Child of the Night Guild

  Thief of the Night Guild

  Dark Gardens Series by Meara Platt

  Garden of Shadows

  Garden of Light

  Garden of Dragons

  Garden of Destiny

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  Scorched

  Ember

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  Love’s Fury

  Desire’s Fury

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Books from Dragonblade Publishing

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Kilty Secrets by Anna Markland

  Dedication

  To Bobbo—

  Thanks for always being my #1 Fan, even if you are my mom.

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to the readers. I could not do this without each and every one of you.

  I’ve had a few very special cheerleaders with this book since its initial stages, and I want to thank you guys for helping me become the writer I am today.

  I would like to thank Dragonblade Publishing and Kathryn Le Veque for offering such a great opportunity.

  To my amazing editor, Scott Moreland, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You saw something in my writing that no one else has before. You’ve offered wonderful suggestions and such kind words of encouragement. Thank you for taking a chance.

  Last but not least, Sheri Fredricks, you’re my “ride or die” chick. You’ve stuck with me through thick and thin, and I’m so proud and grateful to have you by my side as a true friend and the best critique partner ever. Please, keep penning your fabulous tales because you truly have a gift.

  Chapter One

  The slipper loosened from Lady Arabella de Percy’s foot and plummeted into the darkness looming below her. Once the tanned leather landed on the hard-packed earth to join the first, she cursed her wretched luck.

  In spite of the cool autumn air, beads of sweat slid down her face and scalp. She wiped the sleeve of her brother’s old tunic against her brow and shifted her bare feet against the chilled stone.

  The daring plot to escape seemed reasonable from the safety of her bedchamber. Yet, suspended against a castle wall, clutching a rope of knotted-together bed linens and gowns, she questioned the prudence of her and her maid Maggie’s plan.

  Wind whipped through the forest beyond the outer courtyard, creating a barrage of howls and whistles. Expelling a harsh breath, she closed her eyes and choked back a swell of fright. She would never reach the safety of her uncle’s lands in the Highlands if she did not get ahold of herself. After several deep, reassuring gulps of air, she opened her eyes and tightened her grip on the blue gown clenched between her fists.

  Keep moving, Arabella. You must do this.

  She managed another step down, but her toes slipped from the slick, moss-covered stone. As she clambered to regain her footing, craggy rock cut into her soles. Tears sprang in her eyes, and she bit the inside of her cheek to stifle the cry that almost spilled from her lips.

  Saints alive, if only she’d worn her boots. A minor detail she’d forgotten before allowing Maggie to stow them away in the stables with the rest of her belongings.

  Adjusting her grasp, she managed another step and winced at the sting in her feet. Left with little choice
but to endure the pain, she’d tend the injury once she passed the Scots border. For now, ’twas crucial she made it off the cursed wall before anyone happened upon her. Fear, along with a sound measure of fury, prodded her to keep moving. She hastened down the crude-fashioned rope, heedless of the tenderness in her feet.

  Once Geoffrey Longford, her newly-appointed guardian, arrived on the morrow, her chance to flee would be at an end. By means foul, the vile man had seized temporary control of her home. With the king’s approval no less, a deed that still left her reeling. ’Twas simple to guess Longford’s aim. As long as she drew breath, she refused to wed the de facto Lord of Penswyck. In all likelihood, such a union would result in her death.

  As she neared the bottom of the wall, the moon peeked through low-lying clouds in the night’s sky to shine on the linen gown clenched in her hands. Aware she’d reached the end of the rope, Arabella glanced over her shoulder and blew out a puff of air in frustration.

  The cold, hard earth waited ten feet away.

  If she dropped the short distance on her bare feet, she risked injury. Scaling the wall of doom to return to her bedchamber merited no thought. A shout for aid was laughable since Longford’s soldiers occupied the castle. For a brief moment, Arabella considered the coarse fabric, almost compelled to release the material and deal with the consequences.

  A drop it shall be.

  Steeling herself for the fall, she breathed in deep and prepared to let go just as a snort sounded beneath her, inciting a crashing wave of terror. Her heart banged against her ribcage as if the organ might rip free and take flight. Certain one of Longford’s men stood at the ready to sound an alarm, she swallowed against the knot in her throat and slid a reluctant peek over her shoulder.

  To her utter astonishment, the darkened outline of a horse—her horse—stood below. Air pushed from her lungs in a noisy whoosh. Boneless with relief, she might’ve fallen had she not clutched the rope with such a tight grip.

  Why was the unruly beast out of his stall in the first place?

  He should’ve been housed in the stables, awaiting her arrival. Not posted near this cursed wall, mouthing one of her fallen slippers. As she considered his bulky frame, a new notion took root in her mind.

  “Come closer, Devlin,” she cooed.

  The gelding pawed at the earth as though he pondered the request. Though she prized the massive, shaggy-coated animal for his loyalty and steadfastness, she’d never encountered a more reckless, stubborn creature.

  “Please, sweeting.” She clucked her tongue. “I promise to reward you with a barrel of apples when we’re free of this mess.”

  Not one to pass on the mention of his favorite treat, the black beast dropped her ruined slipper and shifted closer to the wall beneath her. A rush of pride swelled inside Arabella.

  She dropped her feet from the wall and allowed her arms to bear her weight. The long hair of Devlin’s hide tickled her outstretched toes. Arms burning from the strain, she adjusted her position until her back rested against cool stone. With her toes atop of his hindquarters, she abandoned her grip on the gown. As he bore her burden, she eased down to sit astride his back.

  Triumph soared through her aching limbs. She scratched behind his ear in appreciation. “You have my thanks, Devlin.”

  Arabella hesitated a moment and frowned at the rope left to dangle against the castle wall. She hated to leave the evidence of her escape there for all to see, but Maggie vowed to take care of the matter before day patrols resumed their duties at first light. For now, she’d lingered too long. ’Twas time to move.

  Nudging her gelding onward, she steered him through the inner courtyard to the stables in the outer bailey. Near the rear stalls, she reined Devlin to a halt and swiftly dismounted. At once, her feet protested the action and she gritted her teeth against a fresh wash of pain.

  Forcing aside the discomfort, she limped toward the rear entrance of the stables. Careful to stick to the shadows, she crept around the corner inside, only to collide with a solid mass that stopped her in her tracks. Rough hands captured her arms, and alarm gripped her throat in firm press.

  A deep voice rasped near her ear, “Wondered where you were, girl.”

  At the sound of the familiar voice, a layer of her distress slipped away.

  “Dougal,” she scolded and placed a hand over her heart. “You gave me a start.”

  The old marshal shrugged his broad shoulders and grunted. “That wretched horse of yours broke through his pen. Almost followed the beast myself to see what was taking so damned long.”

  She studied Dougal’s whiskered, ruddy face half-cast in darkness. His appearance in the stables did not surprise her in the least. The aging Highlander was every bit as stubborn and overprotective as his wife, Maggie.

  Hailing from Clan Fraser, the pair had been close friends of her mother and traveled with her to England when she’d wed Arabella’s father. Even after a ravaging fever had claimed her mother and father years before, Maggie and Dougal had chosen to remain at Penswyck and care for her while her brother, Iain, was at Court or occupied with errands for the king. The thought of leaving the couple behind prompted a sharp pang to pierce her heart.

  She threw herself against the marshal’s burly chest and clung to him. “Oh Dougal, promise me you and Maggie will leave before Longford arrives. I could not bear to lose the two of you, too.”

  His strong embrace wrung the breath from her body. He patted her back with an awkward, heavy hand, a show of affection she cherished from the older man. “Aye, lass. We shall leave at dawn after we settle a few things first.”

  “Why can you not leave with me now?” Fisting his tunic in her hands, she’d drop to her knees and beg if it would sway the stalwart Highlander. “Please, Dougal. Grab Maggie and come with me.”

  “Have a care, lass. We’ve been over this already. You need to be as far away from here as you can be when Longford arrives. You do not need the two of us slowing you down.”

  “But—”

  “Nay.” His stern voice rose and his grip tightened. “Get on that infernal horse of yours and ride as hard as you can till you reach Fraser lands. You can tell Hammish to expect me and my Maggie soon. We shall have no trouble finding our way home. Now go on with you. You’re wasting time, girl.”

  Dougal disentangled her arms from his middle and stepped aside, dashing away a stray tear with an angry swipe of his hand. He retreated into the nearest stall, emerging moments later with her saddle and his cloak. He thrust the coarse material at her, which she accepted with a nod. After a jerk of his head toward the pen, he disappeared outside.

  Wind pushed against the stable causing the wooden planks to creak and groan. A lone lantern lit the area, discharging a soft glow of light. She hurried into the enclosure, and the sharp scents of horse, leather, and fodder assailed her nostrils. Near the back wall, her belongings lay neatly beside a hay pile.

  Arabella grabbed one of her boots and shoved on the tight leather. Barbs of pain shot through her foot and robbed her of air. Throwing an arm out to steady herself, she leaned against the railing for support. A handful of uneven breaths later, she managed to gingerly don the other boot. Once wrapped in Dougal’s cloak, she grabbed her bow and quiver and the saddlebags Maggie had packed for her. She limped out of the stall and aimed a wary glance to the front of the stables. Satisfied no others lurked nearby, she rushed to join Dougal outside.

  With Devlin saddled, she secured her bow and quiver along his side, while Dougal tied off her bags. After they’d finished their chores, she stepped in front of the older man and pressed a soft kiss to his scruffy cheek. Moisture gathered in her eyes, but she forced a faint smile to her lips.

  “I love you, Dougal. Look after yourself and Maggie.”

  Nodding, he passed her Devlin’s reins. His callused fingers brushed over hers, and Arabella turned away before she lost the will. Though a heavy burden weighed on her heart, she gripped the thin leather straps and led Devlin toward the gatehou
se and her freedom.

  Pausing beside the mill, she searched the bailey over for any sign of movement. Drunken revelry from the great hall and drafts of wind suffocated the silence. Fortunately for her, in Longford’s absence, his men had not taken their duties in earnest. Since occupying Penswyck a fortnight ago, his soldiers did naught but drain dry the castle’s supply of ale each eve. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Iain would’ve flogged his men for such shameful behavior.

  The thought of her brother summoned a well of sorrow, and she rubbed at the raw ache in her chest. Giving herself a mental shake, she tucked her grief away. ’Twas not the time to mourn his loss. She could grieve later, once she reached safety. Now, one final obstacle stood in her way—the portcullis.

  To her blessed relief, the prone bodies of four guards littered the ground near the raised gate. God bless you, Maggie. The crafty woman had procured the aid of two of the castle’s most lascivious servants to ply the men with their charms and jugs of wine laced with a potent sleeping draught. From the state of the slumbering guards, the women had met with success. Arabella simply had to pass through the gate to freedom.

  *

  Somewhat confounded, Calum MacGregor had not removed his gaze from the side of the mill since the lass slipped into the shadows. Truth be told, he’d not anticipated such an effortless rescue. Nor would locating his charge prove difficult. Especially since the blasted woman appeared to be in the midst of her own damned escape.

  Stooped near a grain wagon beside his cousin, he’d witnessed her mad descent down the side of the castle wall, clad in men’s attire, and onto the back of that hideous creature bearing a faint resemblance to a horse. Without a doubt in his mind, Hammish Fraser had fleeced him.

  The wily, old goat had painted a troubling image of his helpless, sorely-abused niece. In a fit of rage, he’d sworn to invade England, burning every small village along the way, until he removed her to Scotland under his protection. Just to prevent his foolhardy ally from waging a war no sound-minded Highlander wanted, Calum agreed to slip over the border and grab the lass.

  Moreover, he owed the woman’s slain brother as much. ’Twas the least he could do to honor his friendship to Iain de Percy.