Elisabeth Hobbes - A Runaway Bride For The Highlander

Lost in the Highlands

Found by the laird!

Part of The Lochmore Legacy: a Scottish castle through the ages! Far from her home in France, Marguerite Vallon escapes her arranged marriage to a man she despises. Stowing away in a stranger’s cart, she finds herself headed deep into the Highlands with Ewan Lochmore, the new Earl of Glenarris! Ewan vows to protect her. But maybe the freedom Marguerite has been searching for can be found with this rugged warrior...

ELISABETH HOBBES grew up in York, where she spent most of her teenage years wandering around the city looking for a handsome Roman or a Viking to sweep her off her feet. Elisabeth’s hobbies include skiing, Arabic dance and fencing—none of which have made it into a story yet. When she isn’t writing she spends her time reading, and is a pro at cooking while holding a book! Elisabeth lives in Cheshire with her husband, two children and three cats with ridiculous names.

Also by Elisabeth Hobbes

Falling for Her Captor

A Wager for the Widow

The Saxon Outlaw’s Revenge

The Danby Brothers miniseries

The Blacksmith’s Wife

Redeeming the Rogue Knight

The Lochmore Legacy collection

His Convenient Highland Wedding

by Janice Preston

Unlaced by the Highland Duke

by Lara Temple

A Runaway Bride for the Highlander

by Elisabeth Hobbes

Available now

Secrets of a Highland Warrior

by Nicole Locke

Coming soon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

A Runaway Bride for the Highlander

Elisabeth Hobbes

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08906-7

A RUNAWAY BRIDE FOR THE HIGHLANDER

© 2019 Elisabeth Hobbes

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

For J, A & A,

who braved midges and camping

so I could climb hills and look at lochs.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

They came from all over Scotland, converging on Stirling. The young with fire and anger in their bellies, the old with steel in their sinews. They came from the Highlands and the Lowlands, the borders and the isles. They came bearing weapons and grudges and wounds. Crushed by defeat in battle, yet unbroken in spirit, the Chiefs and the Lairds gathered together.

Stirling Castle loomed on rocks that fell away steeply on three sides. It was an imposing sight by any measure, visible from miles around, far over the winding Forth River. At dusk with the sun blood red behind it, the effect was doubly striking. Flaming beacons at either side of the Forework cast eerie shadows over the six soaring towers and seemed to breathe life into the stones themselves. The Forework became a skull, the windows black eyes and the great central doorway a gaping maw ready to swallow all comers.

Sitting astride his horse in the slow procession that wound from the city huddled beneath the rock towards the great gateway, Ewan Lochmore shivered at the disconcerting image that had entered his head.

He considered himself a rational man, not given to believing tales of eldritch creatures that his grandmother had told him and his brother every Samhain Eve many years ago. Even so, as he drew nearer and nearer he was filled with foreboding that once he passed beneath the stone arch his life would be changed for ever.

He winced and clutched Randall’s reins tighter as a stab of grief sharper than the blade of any dagger knocked him sideways. He gritted his teeth, determined to betray no outward signs of his pain. His life had already changed beyond all imagining and what he would do over the coming days would only make it official.

He looked again at the castle, thinking it no wonder that he saw the face of death when Death had claimed so many Scottish lives recently.

‘You’re quiet. What are ye thinking of?’

Ewan looked at the man driving the small cart alongside him. Angus, his father’s cousin and right-hand man, was watching with shrewd eyes.

‘My father,’ Ewan answered, his voice thick with emotion. ‘And death.’

‘Aye, we’re all thinking of Hamish,’ Angus wheezed, filling the words with a depth of sorrow that matched what Ewan was feeling. Cousins who were more like brothers, Angus and Hamish had grown up the closest of allies, with Angus acting as Hamish’s retainer and answering only to him. If any man had a claim to share the grief that consumed Ewan, it was this man.

‘I found him and held him as he died, a pike still in his back,’ Angus continued. ‘Even then spitting a curse on the cur who struck him down. A great Laird to the last.’

Ewan bowed his head. ‘I should have been there,’ he muttered.

Angus shrugged, but did not contradict him, which twisted the dagger in Ewan’s conscience even deeper. The loss of his father was a blow so great he feared he might never recover from the grief. What weighed him down even more was the knowledge that the eyes of all Lochmores, young and old, rich and poor, landowner or simple yeoman, would be on Ewan as the new Earl of Glenarris. Leadership had been thrust on his shoulders in the most tragic way possible. So far he had failed to impress Angus, one of the few men now living whose good opinion he craved. Jamie, Angus’s sixteen-year-old son, who was sitting alongside him on the seat of the cart, rested a hand on the older man’s shoulder.