The Craving (Rogues of Scotland #1) Read online

  THE

  CRAVING

  ROGUES OF SCOTLAND

  DONNA GRANT

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THE CRAVING

  © 2014 by DL Grant, LLC

  Excerpt from Darkest Flame copyright © 2014 by Donna Grant

  Cover design © 2014 by Leah Suttle

  ISBN 10: 0991454200

  ISBN 13: 978-0991454204

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or transmit this book, or a portion thereof, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  www.DonnaGrant.com

  Available in ebook and print editions

  www.DonnaGrant.com

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A special thanks goes out to my wonderful team that helps me get these books out – Melissa Bradley, Stephanie Dalvit, and Leah Suttle. You guys are the bomb. Seriously. Hats off to my editor, Chelle Olsen, and cover design extraordinaire, Leah Suttle. Thank you all for helping me to keep my crazy schedule and keeping me sane!

  There’s no way I could do any of this without my amazing family – Steve, Gillian, and Connor – thanks for putting up with my hectic schedule and for knowing when it was time that I got out of the house for a spell. And special nod to the Grant pets – Lexi, Sheba, Sassy, Tinkerbell, and Diego – who love to walk on the keyboard or demand some loving regardless of what I’m doing.

  Last but not least, my readers. You have my eternal gratitude for the amazing support you show me and my books. Y’all rock my world. Stay tuned at the end of this story for a sneak peek of Darkest Flame, Dark Kings book 1 out April 29, 2014. Enjoy!

  xoxo

  Donna

  PROLOGUE

  Highlands of Scotland

  Summer, 1427

  Ronan Galt brought his mount to a halt at the top of the mountain, his gaze taking in the majestic view of the wild Highlands. His gaze lowered to the valley below, and a smile broke over his face when he spotted his three friends in the valley.

  A small nudge from his knee, and his horse was racing down the mountain, deftly missing the rocks protruding from the ground.

  “About time,” Stefan grumbled crossly once Ronan reached them.

  Ronan raised his brow as he looked into Stefan’s hazel gaze. “You might want to reign in that tempter, my friend. We’re going to be around beautiful women this night. Women require smiles and sweet words. No’ furrowed brows.”

  There was laughter from everyone but Stefan, who gave Ronan a droll look.

  “Aye, we’ve heard enough about this Ana,” Daman said as he turned his mount alongside Ronan’s. “Take me to this gypsy beauty so I can see her for myself.”

  Ronan regarded his friend sternly. “You think to take her from me?”

  Daman’s confident smile grew as his eyes twinkled in merriment. “Is she that beautiful?”

  “Just you try,” Ronan dared Daman, only half jesting.

  Morcant shoved his long, sandy blond hair out of his eyes with his hand. “Be cautious, Ronan. You wrong a gypsy, and they’ll curse you. No’ so sure we should be meddling with such people.”

  Ronan laughed and reined in his jittery mount. “Ah, but with such a willing body, how am I to refuse Ana? Come, my friends, and let us enjoy the bounty that awaits.”

  He gave a short whistle and his horse surged forward in a run. Ronan didn’t wait for his three comrades, because he knew they would follow – no matter what.

  It began a decade earlier when they chanced upon one another during the Highland games between their four clans. After that, they made sure to meet regularly until they were as inseparable as brothers. The four formed a friendship that grew tighter with each year that passed.

  Ronan looked over his shoulder to find the other three racing each other trying to catch him. He spurred his stallion faster, the wind brushing his face, and the ground a blur beneath his horse’s hooves.

  One by one, the three caught him. Ronan pulled up, easing his stallion into a canter until they rode their horses four abreast. A glance showed that even Stefan’s face had eased into something that could almost be considered a smile.

  Ronan grunted when he spotted two riders atop a hill. Even from the distance he recognized the plaid of his clan. It came as no surprise that his laird would have him watched. He was, after all, Ronan’s uncle.

  He and his friends rode from one glen to another until Ronan finally slowed his horse to a walk. With his friends beside him, they stopped atop the next hill and looked down at the circle of gypsy wagons hidden in the wooded glen below.

  “I’ve a bad feeling,” Daman said as he shifted uncomfortably atop his mount. “We shouldna be here.”

  Morcant’s horse flung up his head, but he easily brought his mount under control with soft words. “I’ve a need to sink my rod betwixt willing thighs. If you doona wish to partake, Daman, then doona, but you willna be stopping me.”

  “Nor me,” Ronan said. Normally he would have listened to Daman, but he had been to the gypsy camp for four days straight and left without any difficulties.

  Stefan was silent for several moments before he gave Ronan a nod of agreement.

  Ronan was the first to ride down the hill to the camp. A young beauty with long black hair came running out to greet him in her brightly colored skirts. He pulled his horse to a halt and jumped off with a smile as Ana launched herself into his arms.

  He caught her and brought his lips down to hers. Ah, but she had the most alluring lips. They could bring him to the point of ecstasy.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said in her thick Romanian accent.

  “Is that so?” he asked with a wink. He turned her to the others who had ridden up behind him. “Ana, these are my friends, Daman, Morcant, and Stefan,” he said, pointing to each of them in turn.

  Her smile was wide as she held out her arm. “Welcome to our camp.”

  Morcant was the first to dismount. He dropped the reins to allow his horse to graze and walked between two wagons into the center of the camp.

  It didn’t take Stefan long to follow. Ronan saw the indecision on Daman’s face. It was long moments until Daman slid from his horse and gathered the reins of all four mounts to tether them together.

  “I’ll keep watch,” Daman said as he sat outside the camp near a tree.

  Ronan wrapped an arm around Ana, briefly wondering why Daman was suddenly wary of the gypsies. Then Ana rubbed her bountiful breasts against him, and Ronan forgot everything but his aching cock.

  He didn’t give any of his friends a second thought as Ana took him to her wagon. Ronan wasted no time in quickly undressing her. His body was starved, and the gypsy was an enthusiastic and willing accomplice.

  ~ ~ ~

  Ronan yawned, his body fully sated after hours in Ana’s arms. Damn, but the little gypsy knew how to wring pleasure from him. He was lucky to have found her. He closed his eyes and was lulled by the haunting melody of the violins being played around the camp’s fire.

  He was drifting off to sleep when Ana snuggled against him, one leg thrown over his. She was tenacious about lying against him.

  “When will we marry?” she asked.

  His drowsy mind was yanked from the fringes of sleep. “Hmm?” Surely he hadn’t heard her mention marriage. Theirs was just a mutual meeting of pleasure.

  He’d made sure to give her multiple orgasms. Wasn’t that enough? Marriage – or any l
ong-term commitment – had never been uttered. He knew that for a fact.

  “Marriage, Ronan,” she said, rolling the R in his name.

  Now he was wide awake, a vise around his chest. His heart thumped, his blood pounded in his ears. Marriage was a word he never wanted associated with him, much less mentioned. It was something he intended never to partake in.

  Ever.

  He pretended to be asleep hoping Ana would drop the matter. It took great effort for him to remain where he was, and not jump up and ride far, far away.

  All he had to do was convince her marriage was a bad idea. Then he would wait until she slept and leave. Never to return.

  Perhaps he should have listened to Daman and not visited Ana this night.

  She nudged him with a slight laugh. “Wake up, Ronan. You’ve come to see me for five nights now. You’ve shared my bed. You’ve eaten the food I’ve cooked. It’s time to speak with my family about what you plan to do.”

  Do? What he planned to do was get up and leave. Aye. Fast. How had he gotten into this mess? He thought he’d be safe from any mention of the word marriage by dallying with the gypsies. Apparently he’d been wrong.

  “Ronan,” she said louder.

  He cracked open an eye, feigning sleep. “Aye?”

  “Will we leave in the morning to meet your family?”

  “Nay, sweet Ana,” he said and closed his eyes with a fake yawn. She had given him such enjoyment the last few days, he would let her down gently, and then pleasure her again before he left. Maybe a lie would be best. Yes, a lie. Something where he didn’t have to explain his family or his past – or his abhorrence to marriage.

  “I’m promised to another.”

  The bed moved as she flopped on her back and then sat up. Had he gotten out of the marriage business with just that small lie? Ronan sure hoped so.

  He heard her moving about the small wagon. A brief look showed she was gathering her clothes. He’d remain until she was out of the wagon, and then he would sneak out. At least that was his plan until she sank onto the edge of the narrow bed after dressing and began to cry.

  How he hated when women used tears. His mother and sister did it often enough, and he was immune to such machinations because of it. His desire for Ana waned to nothing and then quickly turned to revulsion.

  Once more a female had tried to use him.

  She had succeeded in snaring him with her body, but not marriage. When that hadn’t worked, she resorted to tears as they all did.

  “I love you, Ronan,” Ana murmured.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. A part of him, a cruel, vicious part, wanted to tell her that there was no such thing as love. Love was a tool used by women to entrap men. His father had fallen into such a trap, as had his brother-in-law.

  Ronan had tried to tell his brother-in-law, but the besotted fool had actually thought Ronan’s sister loved him. What she loved was the money her husband had.

  A memory from when Ronan was just a lad filled his mind. He witnessed a fight between his parents where his father vowed his love, and his mother laughed in his face. Then and there Ronan knew that love was just a word. There was no meaning, no emotion that poets wrote about or minstrels sang about.

  He blew out a harsh breath and rose from the bed as he grabbed his kilt. “I think it’s time I left.”

  “No marriage?” Ana asked, tears pouring heedlessly down her face.

  Ronan gave a quick jerk of his head side to side and fastened his kilt. Ana cried even harder as she rushed from the wagon. He let out a deep breath and pulled on his boots. After his sword was belted into place he found his saffron shirt.

  Just as he was reaching for it he heard an anguished scream, a soul-deep, fathomless cry that was drug from the depths of someone’s soul.

  Ronan forgot about the shirt as he leapt from the wagon, his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to battle whatever had disrupted the camp.

  He looked one way and then the other for the threat, but found only Daman standing outside the wagons. He was staring past Ronan with a resigned expression on his face. Ronan turned and found the old woman, Ilinca, who was often with Ana, looking down at something in the grass.

  Ronan took a step toward her and instantly came to a halt when he spotted Ana’s bright pink and blue skirts. Even in the fading light of evening there was no mistaking the dark stain upon the grass as anything but blood.

  “What the hell,” Morcant said as he exited a wagon still fastening his kilt.

  The night of pleasure and laughter Ronan had envisioned with his friends seemed as far away as the stars in the sky. He wanted to go to Ana, but with the dagger sticking out of her stomach – and her hand still around it – the last place he needed to be was the gypsy camp.

  They would blame her suicide on him, all because he refused to take her as his wife.

  “Ronan,” Stefan called urgently as he stood amid a group of gypsies.

  There would be no walking away. If Ronan wanted to leave with his life, he and his friends were going to have to fight their way through the group of gypsies who stood with various weapons.

  Before he could pull out his sword, Ilinca let loose a shriek and pointed her gnarled finger at him. Ronan was frozen, unable to move or even speak.

  Words tumbled from Ilinca’s mouth, her wrinkled face a mask of grief and fury. He may not comprehend the words, but he knew they could be nothing good. Especially since she was somehow holding him immobile.

  Morcant, however, wasn’t in such a bind. He rushed to Ilinca with his sword raised, but in a heartbeat, the old woman had him frozen in his tracks as well.

  A bellow of anger rose up in Ronan, but he couldn’t let it loose. He was only able to shift his eyes. He tried desperately to silently tell Stefan and Daman to run, but he should’ve known his friends wouldn’t leave.

  The ever-present rage exploded in Stefan and he let out a battle cry worthy of his clan as he leapt over the fire toward Ilinca. But once more, the old gypsy used her magic to halt him.

  Her gaze shifted, and Ronan found his own on Daman. Daman glanced at the ground and inhaled deeply. Then, with purposeful strides, crossed some unseen barrier into the camp.

  Instantly, Ronan’s head exploded with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, but there was no blocking it out. It seemed to go on for eternity.

  As quickly as it came, it was gone. When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but blackness. There was no sound, no movement.

  “This is for my Ana,” Ilinca’s disembodied voice in her thick Romanian accent suddenly declared around him. “You killed her as surely as if you held the blade yourself. For that I curse you, Ronan Galt. Forever will you be locked in here until such time as you earn your freedom.”

  Ronan turned one way and then the other. He ran until he couldn’t run any more, and then went another direction and ran for miles. And still it was always the same.

  Blackness.

  Where were Daman, Morcant, and Stefan? How was he supposed to earn his freedom? He hated the stillness, hated the silence. But more than anything, he hated being alone.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ravensclyde Castle

  Northern Scotland 1609

  “Nay!” Meg Alpin screamed as two wolfhounds bounded around her. They knocked her off her feet to land in a tangle of skirts, though they did nothing to cushion her fall. “You great big oafs!”

  No amount of scolding could rein in the dogs now that they were inside the room. The white sheets draped over the furniture were only something for them to pull off and play tug-of-war with.

  Meg shook her head and climbed to her feet as she dusted herself off. She then put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. As if she didn’t already have enough on her hands. As mad as she wanted to be at the wolfhounds, she couldn’t quite manage it.

  She understood what it was to be left behind. The dogs had been all but forgotten until she arrived three months earlier. She had lavished them with affection and attention. In re
turn, they had become the animals they should have been – loyal, protective, clever. And with their antics, they were obviously making up for lost time.

  “Enough!” she called and clapped her hands together.

  The two wolfhounds immediately dropped the sheet they had been tugging between them and loped over to her. She gave them a rub on their heads and pointed out the door.

  “Go chase some rabbits.”

  With their tongues lolling out of their mouths, the wolfhounds took off at a dead run, skittering around a corner before disappearing – loudly – down the stairs. There was a distant shriek, letting Meg know the dogs had scared one of the maids again.

  She was smiling even as she shook her head. The wolfhounds might think she was their savior, but the dogs had helped her as well. Most nights she had one on each side of her in the bed. Somehow, they always knew when she would give in to her tears. They would leave their spots before the fire and jump up on the bed to lay with her, as if protecting her from the memories that wouldn’t let go.

  Meg squared her shoulders and took a look around the large room, her eyes flitting over each covered piece. Her great-aunt had offered her refuge at Ravensclyde. In doing so, Aunt Tilly had given her leave to rearrange the castle as Meg saw fit.

  After nearly a month of sitting and staring off into nothing with a book in her lap, reliving the last half year of her life, she finally realized that if she didn’t do something she would waste away to nothing.

  Since she needed to occupy her days – and her mind - going through the old furniture that was stored in the top floor of the tower seemed a great place to start.

  Meg pulled the first sheet off what turned out to be a large wardrobe and promptly began coughing from all the dust. She waved away the particles she could see in the sunlight that filtered through the windows.