The Hunger (Rogues of Scotland #2) Read online

  THE

  HUNGER

  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 HUNGER

  © 2014 by DL Grant, LLC

  Excerpt from Burning Desire copyright © 2014 by Donna Grant

  Cover design © 2014 by Leah Suttle

  ISBN 10: 099145426X

  ISBN 13: 978-0991454297

  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.

  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. Hats off to my editor, Chelle Olsen, and cover design extraordinaire, Leah Suttle. Thank you both 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. And special nod to the Grant pets – all five – who have no problem laying on the keyboard to let me know it’s time for a break.

  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 Hot Blooded, Dark Kings book 4 out December 30, 2014. Enjoy!

  xoxo

  Donna

  PROLOGUE

  Highlands of Scotland

  Summer, 1427

  There was something about being with friends. Morcant Banner never thought he would consider three men not related to him brothers, but there was a connection between Stefan, Daman, Ronan, and himself that none could deny. Even more so than the brothers he did have by blood.

  Even now as they waited in the valley for Ronan to join them, Morcant basked in the summer sun, contentment settling around him. All his worries vanished when he was with his friends.

  Because they accepted him for who he was.

  Because no one else would.

  The sound of a horse’s whinny had all three of them looking to their right and the rider atop the mountain. Ronan. Morcant smiled, anticipation for the evening building.

  Ronan leaned forward slightly. His horse pawed at the ground and then raced down the mountain at breakneck speed. Stefan shook his head at Ronan’s recklessness, while Morcant and Daman laughed.

  Morcant held his stallion with a firm hand as the horse yearned to race as well. Morcant got him under control just as Ronan arrived.

  “About time,” Stefan grumbled crossly.

  Ronan raised his brow. “You might want to rein in that temper, 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 humorless 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’s lips compressed. “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, only half jesting.

  “Be cautious, Ronan. You wrong a gypsy, and they’ll curse you. No’ sure we should be meddling with such people,” Morcant said as he shoved his hair out of his eyes. He knew the stories of the gypsies, and it gave him just enough caution and prudence that might not otherwise be there.

  Then again, the young gypsy women were known for their beauty and seductive ways. Morcant couldn’t say no to that. Hell, what sane man could?

  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.

  Morcant and the others remained behind for a moment as they watched Ronan take the lead as he always did. It had begun a decade earlier when they chanced upon each other during Highland Games between their four clans. After that, they made sure to meet up regularly until they were as inseparable as brothers. The four formed a friendship that grew tighter with each year that passed.

  “I’m no’ missing this,” Morcant said and gave his stallion his head.

  The horse immediately took off. Behind him, Morcant could hear the thundering of Stefan’s and Daman’s horse’s hooves.

  Ronan looked over his shoulder, a wide smile on his face. He spurred his mount faster. Not to be outdone, Morcant leaned low over his stallion’s neck until he pulled up alongside Ronan.

  One by one, the three caught up with Ronan. A few moments later, Ronan tugged the reins, easing his stallion into a canter until they rode their horses four abreast. A glance showed that even Stefan’s face had eased into lines that some could consider almost a smile.

  The four rode from one glen to another until Ronan finally slowed his horse to a walk. They stopped atop the next hill and looked down at the circle of gypsy wagons hidden in the wooded vale below.

  Need pounded through Morcant. It was always the same. Women. He loved women. They were meant to be sheltered and protected, and made love to for hours until they were boneless and sated.

  He made it his life’s mission to woo and pleasure as many women as he could. His mother said it seemed as if his soul searched for something – or someone.

  In fact, it was the opposite. Morcant wasn’t looking for anyone that would tie him down. His duties to his clan were all he would ever need or want.

  “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, and he 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.

  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, and Morcant was right on his heels. He watched in interest as a young beauty with long, black hair came running out to greet Ronan in her brightly colored skirts. Ronan pulled his horse to a halt and jumped off with a smile as Ana launched herself into his arms. Ronan caught her and brought his lips down to hers. It was a reunion of lovers, and Morcant began to scan the female faces for his own. After all, why spend the night alone when there were willing women around?

  Ronan and Ana spoke quietly before Ronan turned her toward them. “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 to the camp. “Welcome to our camp.”

  Morcant didn’t wait on the others to dismount. He’d already found what he was looking for. He dropped the reins to allow his horse to graze freely and walked between two wagons into the center of the camp.

  He glanced behind him to find Stefan following. Morcant paused when he noticed 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 ca
mp near a tree.

  Ronan wrapped an arm around Ana and walked away, his voice calling, “Your loss.”

  Morcant gave a nod to Daman and then continued on his way to the woman he’d seen sitting on the steps to her wagon, her bright turquoise and yellow skirts dipping between her legs while she braided a leather halter for a horse.

  “Och, but you’re a bonny lass,” Morcant said as he leaned against the side of the wagon.

  Her dark eyes cut to look at him suspiciously. “I’m alone for a reason.”

  “And that is?”

  “Not your concern,” she said and went back to her braiding.

  Morcant moved so that he stood in front of her. It took several moments before she lifted her black gaze to his. Her dark hair was down, the thick waves falling over her shoulders, begging to be touched.

  “A woman should be protected. Why do you no’ have someone protecting you?”

  She shrugged and glanced around her. “I am protected. Look around. These people, my people, are my protection.”

  “But you’re lonely.”

  It wasn’t a question, and when she paused in her plaiting for a second time, Morcant stepped closer. “Why are you alone?” he pressed.

  “My grandmother foretold that I would meet my husband on my travels, and that I must remain pure for him. That husband would give me a baby that would unite the gypsy clans in Romania. If I were to remain pure.”

  Morcant couldn’t believe her words. Even if the foretelling were true, which he highly doubted, the gypsy was beautiful with her olive skin and large eyes. “It’s difficult to refuse the pleasures of the flesh,” he said as he guessed what had happened by the regret in her gaze.

  “More than I ever imagined.”

  “Such a waste to leave someone so lovely on her own. Your family should be with you.”

  “I was part of a great prophecy that I ruined. My family shunned me,” she said in a whisper, her eyes locking with his.

  “I’m Morcant.”

  Her lips softened into another smile. “Denisa.”

  He closed the small gap between them. “I offer nothing more than pleasure.”

  “I shouldn’t,” she said softly.

  Morcant touched her face with his fingers before he rubbed his thumb along her lower lip. “There’s nothing wrong with giving in to your desires. You are sensual and beautiful. You were made to experience pleasure.”

  Without a word, she set aside the leather strips and stood before ducking into her wagon. Morcant smiled when her hand slid between the curtains and held one side open for him.

  ~ ~ ~

  Morcant had had his share of virgins. It wasn’t as if he sought them out. More often than not, they sought him because of his experience and renown for the pleasure he could give. He was well known for his skills as a lover, and he made sure never to leave a woman unsatisfied.

  But the gypsy had lied to him. She hadn’t given in to another man. He had been her first, which couldn’t be good any way he tried to look at it. Why had she lied? He couldn’t piece it together, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be around long enough to learn the truth.

  Denisa lay sleeping on her side, her long, black hair tangled and damp with sweat from their exertions. He had pleasured her until she was limp but just as always, nothing stirred within him.

  He found his own release, but there was a weight, a deadness that filled him with each woman he slept with. Sometimes he felt as if it might swallow him whole.

  Morcant leaned up on his elbow and lightly kissed Denisa on her forehead. He rose and dressed quietly. Now that his needs were seen to, he would sit with Daman until the others finished.

  The night was shattered with an anguished scream, a soul-deep, fathomless cry that was wrung from the depths of someone’s soul.

  “What the hell,” Morcant said as he hurried to exit the wagon still fastening his kilt.

  His gaze snagged on Daman, who stood standing outside the wagons staring at something with a resigned expression on his face. Morcant turned to see what had caught Daman’s attention, and found Ronan, shirtless with his hand on the hilt of his sword as he stood looking at an old woman who gazed down at something in the grass.

  That’s when Morcant spotted the bright pink and blue skirts of Ana, Ronan’s lover. Even in the fading light of evening, there was no mistaking the dark stain upon the grass as anything but blood. Unease rippled through Morcant when he saw the dagger sticking out of Ana’s stomach with her hand still around it. The night of pleasure and laughter vanished.

  They needed to leave. Morcant shifted his gaze to Stefan, who stood amid a group of gypsies. Stefan gave him a nod.

  Morcant began to softly, slowly pull his sword from his scabbard. The gypsies would blame Ana’s suicide on Ronan. The only way they would get out of this alive was by killing them all.

  “Ronan,” Stefan said urgently.

  Morcant waited for Ronan to attack, but before Ronan could, the old woman let loose a shriek and pointed her gnarled finger at him. Ronan’s eyes widened in confusion and anger.

  Morcant heard a rustle behind him as Denisa poked her head out of the wagon. He glanced at her to see sadness fill her eyes. “What is going on?” he demanded in a quiet voice.

  “Ana was Ilinca’s granddaughter. She’s using her magic to keep Ronan in place as she levels her curse upon him.”

  “Curse?” Morcant felt as if he’d been kicked by a horse. Daman had been right. They should have listened to his warning and never entered the camp.

  It would be a miracle if they made it out alive.

  Words tumbled from Ilinca’s mouth, her wrinkled face a mask of grief and fury. Morcant didn’t need to comprehend the words to realize Denisa was right, that Ilinca was cursing Ronan.

  Morcant wasn’t going to stand still and wait. With his sword in hand, he rushed to Ilinca, ready to take her head. He was a mere four steps away when she turned her furious gaze on him, and froze him in his tracks.

  Morcant couldn’t move no matter how much he tried. He couldn’t shout a warning to Stefan, couldn’t demand that Daman get away.

  All he could do was watch helplessly as Ilinca went back to cursing Ronan.

  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 to Daman. Morcant prayed Daman would get help, but they had never left each other behind before. It wouldn’t start now. Daman glanced at the ground and inhaled deeply. Then, with purposeful strides, he crossed some unseen barrier into the camp.

  Morcant watched as Ronan squeezed his eyes shut, his body fairly vibrating with pain. And then he was gone, vanished as if he had never existed.

  Ilinca faced Morcant next. She looked to Denisa’s wagon, and her anger grew, becoming palpable. More incomprehensible words fell from her lips.

  Morcant didn’t have time to think of anything as his sword flew from his hand and pain exploded in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, but there was no blocking it out. It went on for eternity.

  When it finally died, Morcant discovered he could move. But when he opened his eyes, there was nothing but darkness.

  And silence.

  “This is for ruining Denisa and the foretelling that would unite all gypsies. For that, I curse you, Morcant Banner. Forever will you be locked in this place alone until you earn your freedom.”

  Morcant didn’t feel anything. No heat, no cold, no wind, no rain, no hunger, no thirst. There was no light, no sound, no stirring of anything. He was utterly alone.

  Not once had he ever been afraid, but he was now. He sank down and dropped his head in his hands. He hadn’t been able to help Ronan, and he didn’t know what had happened to Stefan and Daman. How was he to help any of them now when he didn’t know where he was or how to get out?

  Morcant squeezed his eyes closed and began to hum. Anything to break up the silence.

/>   CHAPTER ONE

  1609 Scotland

  Leana lifted her face to the wind and closed her eyes. There was a touch of fall upon the air, a nip of icy chill that hinted at the winter to come. She loved autumn, but winter was her favorite season. There was something peaceful and beautiful about the country blanketed in white.

  The wind died away, and Leana opened her eyes to see the mountain’s gentle slope to the valley below. The small village was all she knew. The people were good and kind. They were simple folk who lived simple lives.

  They also meant well, but sometimes they didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

  A gust of wind whipped her skirts about her legs violently. Leana adjusted the basket in her hands and turned around to finish her hike up the mountain to the other side where she could find the herbs she searched for.

  Leana had walked the hills and mountains alone for as long as she could remember. The fact that the village was in the middle of Clan Sinclair meant that they were rarely raided by other clans. Not to say that the younger men of the village didn’t join in with others and raid their closest neighbor – the MacKays.

  As soon as she entered the forest, Leana let out a sigh. The forest always relaxed her. It was why she chose to remain in her cottage alone instead of moving to the village. She didn’t understand the girls her age who were focused solely on finding a husband. There was more to life than a man.

  Leana was alone, but she wasn’t lonely. People tended to get the two confused, or assumed that she must be lonely because she was alone. Truth be told, people irritated her. They presumed, interfered, or simply tried to tell her what to do. As if any of it would work. Yet, no matter how many years passed, they continued on as they were, claiming it was for her own good.