The Highlander's Substitute Wife Read online

  Highland Alliances

  Convenient marriages to save their clan!

  Neighboring Scottish clans must form alliances to defeat a dangerous common enemy. New clan leader Ross MacMillan is prepared to enter into a marriage contract to safeguard his people. His brother and sister are under orders to marry strategically as well. Is there a way for love to flourish amid the battle for land and castles in the Highlands?

  Read Ross’s story from Terri Brisbin in

  The Highlander’s Substitute Wife

  Available now

  Fergus’s story from Jenni Fletcher in

  The Highlander’s Tactical Marriage

  On sale March 2022

  And Elspeth’s story from Madeline Martin in

  The Highlander’s Stolen Bride

  On sale April 2022

  Author Note

  When asked to consider working on a connected project with Jenni Fletcher (with whom I just worked on the Sons of Sigurd series) and Madeline Martin (with whom I just collaborated on the multi-author self-published Tourney World project last summer), I jumped at the chance! We set up a couple of Zoom chats to brainstorm and, along with the inspiration of Neil Oliver’s Scottish history videos and our love of Scotland, came up with the Highland Alliances series.

  As usually happens with me, the universe sends me signs that I’m heading in the right direction—the castles I needed in my story showing up on Facebook and on TV, the period we chose pointing us to some wonderful conflicts and many other surprises as we moved along with writing the series.

  So, we begin Highland Alliances in the southwestern part of Scotland, near the islands and where powerful men move as they wish.

  I hope you enjoy the series and my story. It features:

  1. Cinnamon-roll hero (crusty outside, gooey inside!)

  2. Slow-burn love

  3. Fast-burn sex

  4. Marriage of (in)convenience

  5. Enemies to lovers to LOVE

  And Scotland, too.

  Happy reading!

  TERRI BRISBIN

  The Highlander’s Substitute Wife

  When USA TODAY bestselling author Terri Brisbin is not being a glamorous romance author or in a deadline-writing-binge-o-mania, she’s a wife, mom, grandmom and dental hygienist in the southern New Jersey area. A three-time RWA RITA® Award finalist, Terri has had more than forty-five historical and paranormal romance novels, novellas and short stories published since 1998. You can visit her website, www.terribrisbin.com, to learn more about her.

  Books by Terri Brisbin

  Harlequin Historical

  Highland Alliances

  The Highlander’s Substitute Wife

  Sons of Sigurd

  Tempted by Her Viking Enemy

  A Highland Feuding

  Stolen by the Highlander

  The Highlander’s Runaway Bride

  Kidnapped by the Highland Rogue

  Claiming His Highland Bride

  A Healer for the Highlander

  The Highlander’s Inconvenient Bride

  The MacLerie Clan

  Taming the Highlander

  Surrender to the Highlander

  Possessed by the Highlander

  The Highlander’s Stolen Touch

  At the Highlander’s Mercy

  The Highlander’s Dangerous Temptation

  Yield to the Highlander

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  This one is for Jenni and Madeline, who made the collaboration process fun as we wrote about ALL the castles in Scotland and our long-haired heroes! Thanks, girls!

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Excerpt from The Highlander’s Tactical Marriage by Jenni Fletcher

  Excerpt from Tempting a Reformed Rake by Liz Tyner

  Prologue

  Caistéal Suibhne (Castle Sween), Argyll, Scotland—August in the Year of Our Lord 1360

  Their ancient enemy had arrived with the late-summer-morning fog. It had formed in the estuary and spread up the river and over the shores, hiding their presence until it was too late. Half of his men were killed before a warning cry rang out into the eerie silence. When the fog cleared, many of the MacMillan warriors, some of their villagers and, worst of all, their chieftain lay slaughtered.

  Ross MacMillan stared out from the battlements of Castle Sween and surveyed the loss of life and the damage to the outbuildings and village. With each breath he tried to control his rage and his grief as he sorted through the choices facing him and the clan.

  The name of Alexander Campbell was known by all in this area for his villainous and deadly acts two decades ago. He’d not been heard from since his forced exile from Scotland as punishment for his heinous crimes. No one, not a clan around here, had ever expected him to return. And now they’d paid the price for their wilful ignorance.

  ‘Ross.’ His brother Fergus stood closer behind Ross than he realised. Turning to face him, Ross let out the breath he’d been holding.

  ‘The elders are finished and await you in the hall,’ Fergus said. Ross nodded, but his brother glanced away before meeting his eyes. ‘Will you accept?’

  ‘If they offer it, aye.’

  ‘You are the eldest male of Cormac’s relatives. You are already commander of his, our, warriors. The only others who would offer any resistance to you lie in their grave cloths awaiting blessings and burial,’ Fergus argued. Though why his brother did so, he knew not. Fergus usually kept his thoughts and words to himself, so this was more than Ross had heard him speak in a long time.

  ‘Aye, I will accept.’

  They walked to the steps leading down into the yard and Fergus stopped at the bottom before moving on. Something yet unsaid bothered his brother. Considering all that had happened this day and the things yet left to come, Ross could not pick out just one vexing thing from the dozens that he’d thought on before Fergus’s arrival.

  ‘Everything will change,’ Fergus said.

  ‘Aye.’ Ross waited for Fergus’s true question. His brother’s habit of taking a while to get to the real topic of concern was familiar.

  ‘What will you do? What will we do?’

  Although both of them had stood high in their uncle’s regard, neither had expected Cormac to die before producing an heir of his body. Ross understood the enormity of what he faced—he must gather their allies, organise their people and resources, protect the clan and carry out his duties as their new chieftain.

  ‘We will do our duty, Fergus.’ He stared at his brother. ‘I will need your help and co-operation.’

  ‘You always have my help. I will swear my fealty to you as my chieftain.’ Ross could not fault his younger brother if he was not looking at the wider situation as he so easily pledged his loyalty.

  Ross followed his brother across the yard to the door of the keep. Their path was slowed by many who stopped him to ask questions and by others who sought his advice and orders. As they reached the hall and stood before the gathering of the elders and counsellors of the clan, Ross whispered his warning to Fergus.

  ‘Doing our duty means marriage, Fergus.’ Fergus nodded and smiled, believing Ross spoke only of his own betrothal.

  ‘I will stand at your side, Brother,’ Fergus replied.

  ‘As I will at yours.’

  Fergus turned, shaking his head and shrugging. When Ross began to walk past him, his brother grabbed his arm.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘We have been struck hard, Fergus. Our only path to survival and to defeating the Campbells is with allies.’

  ‘Aye. I ken.’

  ‘Well, consider this then, Brother. You and our sister Elspeth are now of use in establishing connections with several other clans to benefit us in the coming battles.’

  Ross understood immediately, as would the elders, that he and his marriageable siblings would draw offers from the neighbouring clans. Treaties, supplies, gold and warriors would be negotiated in marriage contracts, all necessary if he, if they, hoped to prepare to destroy their returned enemies. And none of them would have much choice when it came to the marriages to be made.

  As the truth struck Fergus, his eyes widened at his own prospects. Then fear filled his gaze, but Ross believed that to be the sensible fear of any man facing marriage. Finally, Fergus shrugged.

  ‘Marriage,’ he whispered, in a voice flushed with trepidation.

  ‘Marriage. For each of us and Elspeth as well,’ Ross confirmed.

  ‘I am glad you will be chieftain and be the one t
o tell Elspeth of her fate,’ Fergus said. ‘My chieftain,’ he mocked with a bowing of his head.

  * * *

  When Ross’s name was called, he turned his attention to the matter at hand and the oath he must swear to protect his clan.

  Marriage would come later, but it would come.

  He just wished he would not be the one to tell their sister about hers.

  * * *

  Over the next weeks, and as he’d expected, none of them was happy with the decisions made about their betrothals. One of the elders tried to assuage his concerns by explaining how arranged marriages were the most successful. Watching his sister’s and especially his brother’s reactions to the news of theirs did not portend much happiness for either one. Ross was the only one who’d not met or known his intended before and now he knew not if he should feel comfortable or if the tiny sliver of pure dread that inched down his back was the warning he should heed.

  Only time, and the arrival of his bride, would tell.

  Chapter One

  Caistéal Dùn Naomhaig (Dunyvaig Castle), Islay, Scotland—three weeks later

  The noise of people and their work in the keep and around it woke her long before she was ready to wake. Separated by water from the mainland, Iona—her home for the last three years—was never this noisy. Contemplative brothers and sisters never yelled out commands or questions. No, she was definitely no longer on Iona.

  Ilysa MacDonnell yet wore the clothing she had on her back when her father’s men took her from the nunnery. She’d given up the garments of privilege soon after her arrival on the holy island and took to the simple habit of those who had taken their vows and among whom she worked.

  Shifting on the unfamiliar soft mattress, she ached from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. Which, she now realised, were bare. Leaning up on her side, she stared down at them and tried to bring to mind the memory of removing her stockings and shoes. A shake of her head told her that her veil and wimple remained in place.

  ‘You look like a nun, Ilysa.’

  ‘And I live like one, Lilidh,’ she replied with a shrug. She’d not heard her sister enter so she must have been in the room already, waiting for her to wake. Swinging her feet over the side of the raised bed, Ilysa slid off to stand.

  ‘I took your stockings and shoes off,’ Lilidh admitted. ‘I remember that you like to sleep with them so.’

  Tears filled Ilysa’s eyes as good memories of her elder sister tending to her flooded her thoughts. That was all it took for Lilidh raced across the chamber and pulled Ilysa into a fierce hold. ‘I have missed you, Sister.’

  ‘And I, you, Lilidh.’

  Remaining in a tight hug for several long moments, Ilysa savoured the warmth and emotions of such an embrace. Other than tending to injuries or illness, there was no such physical touching at the nunnery. And, in this moment, she realised how very much she’d missed such a thing.

  Loud, boisterous, emotional and physical in every move they made, the MacDonnell kith and kin were the furthest thing from the community in which she’d lived for three years. How had she survived without all of this?

  As Lilidh released her and stepped back, her glance moved down Ilysa and fixed on her arm. ‘Did I hurt you?’ she asked. ‘Your arm?’

  ‘Nay.’ Ilysa’s useless left arm hung at her side and had not been caught up in the hug. ‘’Tis fine. Truly.’

  Years ago, mayhap five or so, Lilidh had not realised the extent of Ilysa’s injury and the undependable control she had over the damaged arm and had sat on it by accident. Only the cracking sound of the bone breaking had alerted Ilysa to what had happened. At least, she’d felt no pain in it...then.

  ‘Do you ken why I am here? Father’s men would say nothing but for the call home by him.’

  She leaned her head to one side and then the other, trying to ease the tightness and discomfort from sleeping on too soft a mattress. Reaching up, she took hold of the wimple’s strap just as her sister did.

  ‘Here. Sit,’ she ordered. ‘I will see to it.’ Lilidh lifted the veil off and had the wimple loosened and the coif moved aside before Ilysa could warn her about the...

  ‘They have cut your hair?’ Lilidh dropped the headdress and gauzy fabric and touched Ilysa’s now collar-length locks. Her hair had reached well below her hips, as Lilidh’s blonde tresses did. ‘They cut your hair!’ The soft caress of her sister’s fingers belied her anger. ‘How dare they?’ Lilidh moved from behind her to meet her gaze. Ilysa took her sister’s hand and tugged her closer.

  ‘’Twas my decision, Lilidh.’

  A deep silence surrounded them while her sister stared at her hair and thought on her words.

  ‘Pray tell me you have not taken vows?’ Lilidh shook her head wildly and squeezed her hand. ‘I beg you, tell me you have not.’

  Something in the tone of Lilidh’s voice alerted her to more than sisterly concern. A desperation deep within her voice, in the pleading way she asked about vows made Ilysa uneasy. Very uneasy.

  Although that had not been her plan, it should not be a surprise to anyone if Ilysa chose to enter the full life of the nunnery rather than continue to live as a lay sister. No one had ever asked her about it, but then her father had, until just two days ago, allowed her to fall from his memory or concern. She’d received no messages or letters from him, no orders or questions, nothing since the day she’d climbed on to the birlinn that had taken her to the island.

  ‘I have—’ Her words were interrupted when the door swung open, crashing against the wall, and both of them jumped in surprise.

  And there he stood—Iain MacDonnell, chieftain of this branch of the mighty clan that controlled huge swathes of the islands and highlands here along the south-western coast of Scotland.

  Her father.

  Still tall. Still wide in his shoulders, chest and arms. Not looking any older than when she’d seen him last. Even his hair had not dared to thin or go grey and reveal his age. The cruel slant of his mouth was the same. The way he strode into a chamber as well. So was the manner in which he fisted his hands as he moved—always ready to strike out. Always ready. Nothing different in three years. Ilysa could not stop the shiver that raced through her at the sight of him.

  ‘Vows?’ he said in a whisper. Oh, it was much safer for anyone involved if he was shouting out his commands or insults. When his voice dropped low and he spoke slowly, someone would pay a price. ‘You had better not have taken vows!’ He closed the space between them and reached out. ‘What the hell happened to your hair, girl?’

  He grabbed hold of her hair, tugging her up on to her toes and closer to him, and studied her face in silence. The grimace of pain she could not help, but she clenched her jaws and lips together to make certain no cry left her mouth. When she did not speak, he pulled again and shook her. ‘What happened to your hair?’

  ‘Father?’ Lilidh’s soft voice broke the tension. ‘I pray you, let her speak.’

  He released his punishing hold on her so quickly Ilysa lost her balance and fell to her knees. Her scalp screamed from his abuse and she let out a breath before even trying to speak.

  ‘I had my hair cut to make it easier to wear the habit like the others. For my, for our, work around the nunnery. Though the prioress harbours a wish for me to join their community permanently, I have made no such commitment.’

  ‘Oh, does she? Well, I paid too much for her to accept you until I make a decision about your place.’ He crossed his massive arms over his chest and snorted. He did not like to be challenged and especially not by a woman. Not a wife, a noblewoman or even a holy woman. The MacDonnell paid no heed unless he wished to.

  Ilysa bowed her head not to let her anger show. He did not want her around, did not want to see her deformity and did not wish her shame to be his. But, he also wanted no one else to wish for her presence. Living at the nunnery had given her comfort. A place where her efforts were valued, not her appearance. A community where they lived in peace without the constant violence and furore of her father.

  From her position, on her knees, on the floor before him, Ilysa understood she would never feel that peace again. He had jerked her chain and she was back in his control once more.