When the Laird Returns (THE HIGHLAND LORDS #2) by Karen Ranney EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: Karen Ranney
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
July, 1775
Scotland
There were no hints of what was to come on that perfect summer morning,
no sign that in a few hours her life would be forever changed. But then,
Iseabal was later to realize, momentous events are often heralded not by a
thunderclap but by a sigh.
She bent over the neck of her horse, flying over the ground so fast that
the grass was a green blur. A brilliant blue sky, cloudless and clear, was a
backdrop for the craggy hills in the distance. To her left was Loch Euliss
shining gold in the morning sun, and ahead was her destination, the ruins of
Gilmuir. The ancestral home of the MacRae clan sat perched on a clifffaced promontory overlooking Loch Euliss and connected by a strip of land
to the glen.
The wind, brushing against her cheeks almost abrasively, made her feel
free and brave. But the feeling was short-lived and edged with caution.
Each time she’d engaged in secret rebellion, the act had been accompanied
by a sour taste in her mouth. Even now as she slowed, her fingers began to
tremble on the reins.
Her father and his entourage had left for Inverness not an hour earlier,
but Iseabal knew better than to believe herself completely safe. Hesitating
at the land bridge, she turned in the saddle, watching as the sheep behind
her were being moved. The shepherd was not, blessedly, looking in her
direction.
Dismounting, she tied the reins of her horse to a piece of iron bar, all
that remained of the front door. Stepping between two leaning columns,
Iseabal entered Gilmuir. Although the slate floor was covered in brick dust,
the hallway connecting the main part of the castle to the priory was
surprisingly intact. The curved roof still held and sunlight spilled through
the trellis-like pattern of bricks on one side. Walking through the corridor,
Iseabal stretched out her hand, touching the sun-warmed bricks in greeting
or petition.
After all, she was a Drummond and a trespasser.
“It’s the spawning site of our enemies,” her father had once said about
Gilmuir. “Just as well there are no more MacRaes about,” he’d added
grimly. “I’d have to kill them all.”
Yet she could not find it in her heart to feel anger toward people she’d
never known.
Reaching an opening in the corridor, Iseabal turned to her left, facing
the ruins of the clan hall.
Summer had come to the Highlands, sending the warm wind soughing
around corners and darting in playful gusts around the rubble. Gilmuir
seemed saddest in this season, as if knowing that the world blossomed
around it and life would never come again to this once grand place.
There was no sign of grandeur now. All of Gilmuir’s walls had fallen
but for one short section, and it leaned at an angle toward the cavernous
space below the ruin, a framework of piers and vaults that had once
supported the floorboards.
Her imagination, however, sketched in details long gone. Across the
ceiling and against the walls, the banners of the MacRaes would have been
hung. Below her feet, polished boards would have gleamed from a
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