Page 1 of Taming the Highland Misfits

HIGHLANDER’S QUEST FOR REDEMPTION

PROLOGUE

Isla Thomson gazed in adoration at the boy before her. For a nine-year-old girl, he looked like a man, having big strong shoulders and powerful arms when, in fact, Finley McGill was only fifteen years old.

Despite his relative youth, however, Finley was already working in a blacksmith’s forge. The constant hammering with a heavy mallet and chopping firewood for the furnace was piling muscle onto his body and turning it into that of a strong and sturdy man.

Isla’s mouth dropped open with amazement as she watched his big hands clasp the handle of a great metal mallet and smash it down on a piece of wrinkled metal, flattening it. She jumped in fright at the great crash but did not run away. Finley was her hero, and she loved to stand and watch him.

Finley must have been aware of Isla’s scrutiny since she looked at him the same way every chance she could get. He might have known why she did it, and it may have amused him, but he was clearly interested in girls of his own age, who had more to offer a young man.

Isla Thomson was just a baby. As well as that, she was much higher up on the social ladder than he was, being the daughter of a wealthy wool merchant, while he was only the humble apprentice of a blacksmith.

A father, like Robert Thomson, would never consent to a marriage with a tradesman whose hands, face, and body were perpetually filthy. Moreover, would a wealthy woman love a man who had to scrub himself clean every night before he could climb into bed?

Anyway, her constant and obvious hero worship was flattering and did no harm. But he sometimes seemed to feel sorry for her.

Suddenly, she saw him vigorously beating the iron sheet under his mallet as if he was trying to kill it.

* * *

Agnes McGill and Edina Thomson were sitting together in the market square of the town of Inverblane, sharing a bottle of wine. This was a treat for Agnes since people of her social stature could not usually afford such luxuries. However, Edina was always happy to bring her friend some little treats when she came into town.

Theirs was a strange friendship, which had come about when Edina’s horse had cast a shoe while she was out riding. When she came into the blacksmith’s shop, Edina was clutching a sore shoulder, which she had hurt when she fell off her horse.

Seeing her in distress, Agnes approached her, made her sit down, and offered her some warm ale.

“Are ye hurt, mistress?” she asked, concerned.

Edina nodded. She was in too much pain to speak.

Agnes felt around the injury and frowned anxiously. “Ye have put your shoulder out o’ joint, mistress. I have some experience o’ fixin’ injuries like this, but if ye prefer I can send for Mistress MacKintosh, the wise woman.”

Edina looked at the blacksmith’s wife’s kind face for a few moments and decided to trust her.

Agnes was very nervous, but she steeled herself to the task and twisted Edina’s arm into place again, surprised when it made a popping sound.

Edina screamed with agony, then after a few moments of piteous moaning when she felt that her arm might fall off, the pain eased a little and she opened her eyes and looked into Agnes’s anxious green ones. She smiled tentatively. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. “May I pay you for your services?”

Agnes was shocked. “I need no payment, Mistress Thomson,” she replied, shaking her head.

“I must give you something,” Edina protested, but Agnes only shook her head.

However, Agnes had been repaid with little gestures and small gifts, and their relationship had grown into the solid friendship which they now enjoyed.

Edina was watching Isla with amusement as she sat on the grass in front of them and gazed at Finley in adoration.

“Isla is so sweet,” Edina observed, smiling. “She absolutely loves him!”

“She’ll grow out o’ it, Edina.” Agnes laughed as she watched the girl scramble to her feet and run over to take a closer look at what Finley was doing.

Isla stopped a few feet away from Finley, who was still hammering away at the sheet of metal he was working on. Her ears were ringing painfully from the crashing of the hammer, and she had to put her hands over them to stifle the noise, but she stood her ground, refusing to let it put her off.

She watched her hero as the sheet of metal he was working on grew thinner and flatter, in awe of his strength.

Finley had a pile of iron still to work on, and he knew it would take him the rest of the day. If he was aware of her scrutiny, he showed no sign of it, and when the sheet of metal had been fashioned to his satisfaction, he straightened up, stretched his back, and rolled his shoulders. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked down at Isla, who was still standing watching him.

“You are very strong,” she observed solemnly.