Hearts In The Highlands

Mr. Gallagher pointed to the west, where the sun was beginning its slow descent behind the mountains beyond the loch. “The highest peak is Ben Lawers. I’ve always wanted to climb it.”

Maddie looked at him curiously. “Why?”

“Why not?” He smiled, a smile that began in his blue eyes and slowly reached his lips. “Think of the view from the summit. On the other side of the range lies Glen Lyon, one of the loveliest glens in all the highlands.”

“It sounds spectacular.” She was no longer looking at the mountain, but at Mr. Gallagher. He was a man of action, like her brothers. While she was…What did she have to show for her life?

“Would you like to climb it, too?” His eyes met hers once more.

“Yes,” she found herself saying. “Has any woman ever climbed it?”

There was a challenge in his blue eyes. “What does that matter? You could be the first.”

Ruth Axtell Morren wrote her first story when she was twelve—a spy thriller—and knew she wanted to be a writer. There were many detours along the way. She studied comparative literature at Smith College, spent her junior year in Paris, taught English in the Canary Islands and worked in international development in Miami, Florida, where she met her future husband, who took her to the Netherlands to live for six years.

She first gained recognition as a writer when her second manuscript finaled in the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart contest in 1994. Ruth’s first two Steeple Hill novels, Winter Is Past (2003) and Wild Rose (2004) both won awards in contests sponsored by Romance Writers of America. Wild Rose was selected as a Booklist Top 10 Christian Novel in 2005.

After living several years on the down east coast of Maine, Ruth and her family moved back to the Netherlands, to the polderland of Flevoland, where she still lives by the sea. Ruth loves hearing from readers. You can contact her through her Web site: www.ruthaxtellmorren.com.

For Susan,

Remember, it’s never too late.

And let us not be weary in well doing, for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.

—Galatians 6:9

Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

—Robert Burns,

“Farewell to the Highlands”

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

Epilogue

London, 1890

“Imagine waking up, a knife at your throat—”

Since Reid Gallagher stepped into his great-aunt’s parlor, Maddie had been transported to another time and place.

He leaned forward in the velvet upholstered armchair, rumpling the lace covers on each arm with his strong hands.

“It was touch and go for a while there.” Humor underscored the quiet rumble of his words. “They stormed us on horseback, surrounding our camp in the dead of night, brandishing their knives and cudgels. All we could do was fumble for our weapons in the dark—”

Maddie sat riveted, listening to the rugged man with the lean, deeply tanned face, sun-bleached sandy hair and thick mustache a shade darker. His words evoked a kaleidoscope of images—a British surveying party in the midst of the lonely desert, the night air cool, the stillness broken by a band of rebels, the neigh of horses and bray of camels….

“Oh, dear heavens!” Lady Haversham left off stroking her Yorkshire terrier. “Was anyone killed?”

He looked down, his tone grim. “Two, including Colonel Parker, the head of our expedition. Our men rallied immediately, of course. We sleep with our weapons near at hand, so we were able to rout the group in no time—”

“My smelling salts!” Lady Haversham fanned her face. “I feel about to faint. Madeleine!” The terrier, Lilah, jumped up with a sharp bark.

Maddie hurried to her employer’s side. “Hush, Lilah!”

“Do please hurry.” Lady Haversham sat with her head against the antimacassar, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow.

Maddie reached for the tapestry bag that kept a host of things Lady Haversham might need at any given moment. In a second, she located the small vial and waved it under the elderly lady’s nostrils.

She started at the whiff. “Oh!”

Maddie immediately withdrew the vial and fetched a small cross-stitched cushion to place behind her. At the terrier’s continued barking, she took the tiny dog in her arms. “See, your mistress is perfectly fine,” she crooned, petting Lilah’s long, silky hair until the dog was quiet.

“That’s better,” Lady Haversham said. “I felt so light-headed for a moment.” She reached for her pet. “Come, my darling, Mama’s right here.”

The russet-colored terrier settled back down on her mistress’s lap. Mr. Gallagher stood beside his great-aunt’s chair, anxiety etching his brow. Lady Haversham reached out a hand, which trembled slightly. His sun-browned one grasped her pale, age-spotted one like a great bird enfolding a baby bird under its wing.