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Highlander’s Cursed Heiress (Preview)

Chapter I

Gale looked up at the sun. The last time she checked to see how much light she had left in the day, it seemed as if she would have more time to find somewhere to sleep for the night. Now, as the sun melted behind the mountain tops, there were still hours before full nightfall, but she’d failed to account for the mountains. Dusk flooded the valley, threatening to blind her with darkness within an hour.

A stray wind whipped down and pulled at Gale’s cloak. She pulled it close to her body, shivering against the sudden temperature drop. Her heart pounded as she looked around. Hours had passed since the last time she saw a house or a human at all. The road wound across the valley. In the distance, she could see the dark sponging of a forest, well out of her way. Yet for miles ahead, the land was open and vulnerable, save the occasional outcropping of rocks piercing through wildflowers and moss.

What have I done? Gale thought. She’d not accounted for the mountains stealing so much day, and now the thought of making camp in the open frightened her.

The other nights were hard, but she’d lucked out, and the days stretched on longer. Gale stared at the dark tree line, now only a shadow. The roughhewn road reflected some light, a pallid snake curling through the dusk. Her mind filled with horrible thoughts—bandits, travelers drunk and cold and aggressive—and of course, wild animals hunting for a meal.

There was no way she could sleep out in the open. Her fire would beckon one and all nearby, and at this point in her journey, strangers terrified her. She remembered the cruelty she’d met from the first villagers she solicited for help. With the respects of her title stripped from her, she was a common girl, now filthy and hungry from traveling in the same clothes for weeks.

I should have never sold the horse Gale chastised herself as she walked faster. It had been necessary, though. The horse would have given her company and helped her, but she would have starved or frozen. Each night was colder than the previous as she made it further north. She had a blanket and a dwindling supply of food. The cheat robbed me.

Gale tried to push the memory from her mind. She didn’t know anything’s price. She knew her horse was worth more than she received, but it was her first time haggling. Her fear of the darkness and what danger might come with it fueled a million terrible thoughts in her mind. Anger coursed through her as she remembered the farmer’s stoic face while she begged him for an honest trade—a feat in itself that injured her pride. If not for how hungry she was at that point, she would have waited, but she had never gone two days without food before. The man knew she was desperate and naïve.

A small rock tripped up her foot. “God’s teeth!” Her heart dropped into her stomach as she stumbled forward. The palms of her hands tore against the packed earth and small pebbles.

Tears gripped at her. She sniffed them back, remembering how much harder they made it for her to think and make good time. Gale tipped her matted blonde head up to the heavens and let out a sigh. The clouds were too thick. Even when the stars peeked out, it was unlikely for her to receive much light. Her hands trembled as she wiped her nose on the edge of her cloak.

Calm down. She forced herself to take a deep breath and step forward. Just get to the trees. The thought of her bed, so warm and comfortable with fire blazing in the hearth, came to mind. Gale squeezed her eyes shut hard enough for specks of light to spark against her dark eyelids. She couldn’t think about home. She knew what memories would come next. There was no use in thinking about how nice it would be to eat a full meal and sleep in a real bed. It was not going to happen. She could never go back home.

Gale took one more breath, and as she exhaled, she focused her full attention on the forest. I can make a bed of pine and leaves. What about animals? It felt as if some small creature crept from the nape of her neck to her spine. She shook the thought of bugs and creeping things from her mind. Out here is worse.

The hours passed. One foot at a time, one small step at a time, she drew closer. Darkness enveloped her until even her pale hands were hardly visible in front of her. When the forest was near enough to tower above her, she started to run. She ran as if all her fears were right behind her. It was if, at any moment, the hand of a strange man or a bloodthirsty thief would snatch the collar of her cloak and rip her to the ground.

Her feet slipped on the moisture slicked grass. She let out a soft cry, catching herself and carrying on. Just a little further. Her hands reached out. The rough bark gripped at her fingertips. She let the momentum of her sprint wrap her around the tree as she caught her breath. The forest was instantly darker than the road. She groaned as she looked into the blackness before her, hoping for her eyes to adjust.

Gale looked back and forth between the open stretch of land behind her and the darkness of the forest. The black branches spread out like claws. The rustling of small animals piqued her ears and stirred dark imaginings in her mind. She heaved her rucksack onto her shoulder, cringing as the rope cut into her tender flesh.

The young woman mustered up the courage to take a few steps into the trees. She didn’t want to lay in the open, easy for a passerby to accost, her few items too valuable to lose. The darkness was worst, though. She stopped when she could no longer see the road, hoping it was good enough to keep her safe.

Gale pulled the foliage into a pile and wrapped herself tightly in the wool blanket. The cold air bit at her nose, and her body ached from walking and carrying all that she owned. She pulled the blanket over her head, creating a cocoon for her breath to warm. The nights were always the hardest. She was tired and frightened and overwhelmed. Without the landscape and focus of her journey to keep her mind occupied, the past haunted her.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, Gale tried to tell herself as she felt the lump swell in her throat. She promised herself she would not cry anymore. It was of no use, no matter how much she felt she had mourned enough, the nights always broke her. The image of her father’s face—distorted, swollen, and blue came to her as clear as if she had found him the night before. She pulled her blanket closer and wiggled deeper into the dried leaves and bits of brush.

Visions of her home swirled up. She could not remember her father’s laugh or the sound of his voice. Guilt coursed through her as she struggled to recall the only person who’d made her feel loved. She remembered how she saw her mother the night of his death. Even though there was nothing she could have done, she should have known something was terribly wrong.

Heavy sobs wracked her body. She let them come, crashing over her like waves. Gale choked on her cries, wailing soft into the silent privacy of the night. When her throat dried and she choked, coughing until she was forced to breathe and calm down, a nervous sleep overcame her.

Since leaving home, she hadn’t slept soundly. It was easy to recount all the ways she took her plush life for granted. There was constant fear on the road, and it came into her dreams.

A branch snapped in the distance. Gale’s eyes flew open, and her body stiffened. She clung tight to the wool cloth, afraid to move, straining her ears for another sound. Another broken branch—barely audible—cracked.

With trembling fingers, Gale pulled the blanket down just enough to peek at the woods around her. She dared not to move more than necessary. Within a few yards, big yellow eyes stared at her. They floated in the darkness like hungry spirits and froze the blood in her veins with their ravenous gaze. The rustle of foliage whispered behind her. She dared not look, but she knew she was surrounded. She could feel the tension hanging in the air. The smell of dank fur carried on the breeze sending the hair on her arms and neck prickling up at attention.

Up above, the wide branches of a mighty oak stretched out. It was her only hope. Gale curled her fingers around the edge of the blanket, knowing the second she moved, they would attack. She closed her eyes for a moment to calm her heart and imagine what she needed to do.

Gale tore the blanket from her body and jumped as fast as she could to the nearest branch. Her fingers threatened to slip as she hugged the wide bough curving outwards above her makeshift bed. The trees exploded with movement. She struggled to pull herself up. There was no thinking or lapse in time as she jumped to the next branch, hoping it was strong enough to hold her. Jaws snapped in the darkness below. She squealed as claws scraped the bark just beneath her, unable to see anything except their eyes in the dark woods.

The young woman thought she was dead. She muttered prayers under her breath. “Ach! Please, God, please no.”

The bark roughed up her small palms and cut at her knees as she scrambled up the tree. Gale did not look down. She jumped in her skin, almost losing balance as one of them leaped, jowls snapping close enough for her to feel its hot breath. Gale’s hand reached up for the next branch. It snapped in her hand. She screamed out and clung to the trunk. Holding herself there, too scared to move.

Never in her life had she climbed a tree—not like this. In her youth, the farthest she dared to clamber up was the occasional low branch swooping towards the mossy floors—even that was a private, naughty endeavor for a lady. To think, that filled her with adrenaline and a sense of adventurous mischief—and now, she was high enough to kill herself, and surrounded by wolves.

Her heartbeat calmed enough for her to look down. She could make out the faint movement below her. The darkness slithered back and forth, circling the trunk. Occasionally those eyes would flash up at her, bright and vexed at missing their meal. The pack started to howl.

“Go away!” More tears choked her in her panic. Her voice was weak and unconvincing. She tried to calm it’s nervous shake, “Get out o’ here!” she screamed.

It was no use. Gale stood there, clinging to the trunk until their howls calmed down, and her arms ached enough to shake. She looked around her. There was a branch adjacent, wide enough for her to sit. Her fingers stretched out, barely grazing the limb. She would have to jump. Her eyes looked down. They were tearing through her things. She stayed clinging to the trunk as long as she could, knowing if she didn’t leap to the other branch, she was sure to have her muscles give out beneath her and land amongst the hungry, waiting wolves.

With a deep breath, Gale took the leap of faith. Her chest slammed hard against the bough. She gasped for air and clung for dear life, her legs kicking beneath her. Tears squeezed from her eyes as her feet flailed below. She could hear the wolves’ excitement, whimpering, and growling. She tried to pull herself up, but her muscles ached. Teeth snapped, clipping her boot. Gale screamed. Terror and primal instinct ripped through her. She pulled with all of her might and wiggled her chest above the branch. With newfound courage and focus, fueled by fear, Gale managed to swing her feet up.

She laid there panting, terrified of moving, hugging the tree for security. She opened her eyes to see the wolves leaping at her, taking turns. Each one startled her, and she cried out anew, afraid that the next jump would be the one to reach her. The wolf’s leap fell short by a couple of feet.

“Please, jus’ leave me alone,” she begged.

The wolves ignored her pleas.

Hopelessness clasped her heart. She was too scared to sit up despite the branch being wide enough to hold her. Gale was terrified of moving at all, and despite how exhausted she was, she knew to fall asleep likely meant her death.

There goes the last of the meat, she thought after her heart stilled a bit. The sounds of the wolves tearing through her belongings dragged her heart down. The most she could hope for was that the blanket was not torn to shreds, and her waterskin remained intact.

To comfort herself, Gale imagined what her destination might look like. She imagined Rosalie’s new home to be extravagant now that she was married to the McGregor’s clan chief. The thought of tender meat and a warm bed kept her from giving up and letting her muscles to relax. The problem was, it was hard to find comfort when she didn’t know how far she had come. It felt as if she’d spent months walking from her keep on the Scottish border. There was no telling how long she still had to go until she reached Loch Awe in the highlands.

In her mind, she tried to replay the journey. Years passed since the last time her father and mother traveled together to Loch Awe. The memory was painful—not only because of the deep longing in her chest for her beloved father but for all of the dramatic madness which ensued on that journey. They traveled in a cart then. What she would do for a chance to be holed up in a cart right then, an experience she’d loathed and complained about in the past.

Confused and overwhelmed, exhaustion made her eyelids heavy. She struggled to keep them open. The wolves refused to leave. Despite her struggles, sleep arrested her. She snapped wide awake as one of her toes slipped from the branch, reawakening the fear inside of her. Down below, the wolves howled, waiting for her to lose her grip and fall so they could feast.

Chapter II

The night crawled past, threatening to never end. Gale was vaguely aware of the wolves giving up, chasing after some unfortunate creature in the darkness. Still, she was too scared to climb down. It was too dark to see anything, and she imagined them waiting for her just within reach. Anytime she fell asleep, she would jolt awake, her fright too real and encompassing to let her body risk falling.

Gale stared out through the leaves and branches until the first fingers of dawn washed the world with gray. Birds sang and chirped with cheerful delight. It annoyed Gale to see the world move on around her misfortune. She did not gather the courage to climb down until the warmth of the sun was full on her face. Down below, she could see her small items scattered about. Oats were sprinkled over the dried leaves in all directions, left from the wolves’ tearing through her small parcel to get to the dried meat. The last of her food was all gone.

The young woman’s muscles trembled as she tried to climb down. She was past the point of exhaustion. On the last branch, her slender arms failed her. Her feet slipped on the trunk, and she fell flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her. Gale lay there, staring up at the sun filtering down between wide oak and birch leaves. When her breath returned to normal, she let the earth cradle her, grateful to be back on solid ground. Her mind was numb, too tired to think of anything except for the pain screaming from her stomach.

It took her a long time to pull herself into a sitting position. Everything was hazy and surreal, and it was impossible to tell if she had dozed for a moment while she lay there. She knew she needed to keep moving. With no food and no telling when she would see civilization again, she knew she must continue—no matter how much she just wanted to sleep at the base of the oak that saved her life.

As Gale sat, feeling each muscle threaten to quit, she reaffirmed her conviction to survive. I will not cry today. She looked around at the woods, their calm beauty mocking Gale’s fear throughout the previous night. I will find food. I’ve come too far to quit now. She let out a soft moan as she stood to assess the damage.

The blanket was torn in a few places and smelled awful. Gale felt tears burn the corners of her eyes. She could smell herself, too. A deep breath rattled through her lips, sucking the tears back inside. She squealed as her hand touched slobber, dropping the blanket back to the ground. A fit overcame her. With no one to bear witness, Gale stomped her feet and screamed out, letting all her anger and fear scare the birds from the trees. She tore through the leaves, searching for her scattered belongings.

To Gale’s relief, other than the damage to the blanket and her missing food stores, everything else was unbroken. She shook her waterskin. It was half full. With a glance up at the sun’s position, Gale took a small sip, reminding herself to ration what remained. She couldn’t think about what would happen next. The thought of not knowing how much longer her journey would take crushed her willpower. She had to focus on moving forward and nothing more.

One foot in front of the other, Gale trudged through the woods. When she broke through the trees, her heart burst with excitement. For the first time in a long time, she recognized where she was. In fact, as exhausted as she felt, she knew if she kept on, she would make it to Rosalie’s home within the next two days.

Her stomach grumbled. She might not make it for two days.

As her hunger and eagerness to reach her destination peaked, Gale spotted a small homestead. There was no one around, and she could see a small animal shack with two horses grazing outside. If I had one of those horses, I could make it to Rosalie tonight. Gale stood there, staring at the horses for a long time. Whoever owned the property was out in their fields or busy in their home. There was no one around for miles.

Gale stepped onto the low wooden fence corralling the horses. If anyone comes, I’ll just play dumb. In her mind, her appearance still reflected the respectability of the prim and groomed noblewoman she had been for her entire life. If she had fully understood how dirty and ragged she looked, she might have thought twice about risking stealing a horse. She had never stolen anything before, but the thought of warming herself by Rosalie’s fire pushed all thoughts of morality from her mind.

With a quick look about her, Gale decided to sprint to the animal shack. Knowing the coast was clear, she ran as fast as she could, terrified the owner of the property would appear at any second. Her heart pounded as she stepped into the cover of the lean-to and caught her breath. To her relief, it was unoccupied by any workers.

Everything she needed was there. Gale’s heart pounded in her chest, and her hands shook. She moved as quick as she could, afraid at any point she would be caught red-handed. She peeked out at the horses, taking in a full glimpse of the land for anyone. There was no one in sight. With a hand stuffed with hay, she was able to lure the smaller of the two towards her. A rush of excitement coursed through her as the pretty dappled draft horse ate the bits of dried grass, then nuzzled its muzzle into her palm.

Gale wasted no time. She always loved horses, but it was the second time in her life she ever prepared one by herself. Even when she fled from her keep, one of the working hands helped her in her escape. He helped her up into the saddle. Now, she struggled, climbing onto one of the stalls to get up. A whistle sounded in the distance. Someone was coming. Gale’s heart dropped into her stomach. She wasted no more time, nearly falling from the back of the creature as she slipped into the saddle. Her feet kicked into its hinds, and within moments she was blazing across the open grounds and kicking the horse to leap a short gate.

“Hey!” Someone screamed behind her. “That’s ma horse! Stop! Stop!”

Gale dared to look back over her shoulder. An old man ran across his property, trying to stop her. A wild laugh overcame Gale as she leaned into the horse’s neck, urging it to go faster. With every glimpse back, energy coursed through Gale’s veins as she saw the man’s silhouette shrinking in the distance. She could not stop laughing. It was the first time she had laughed in months. Even before her father was murdered, there was little to laugh about, and now, the insanity of the situation made her giggle without control.

I just stole a horse. She was amazed. Never in her life would she have imagined herself taking anything. She would have turned her nose up in disdain at anyone would even think of such a thing. Her mind coursed with thoughts of a warm bed and hot food. She kept the horse running until it tuckered out.

Gale drank the last sips of her water as the sun reached the highest point in the sky. The horse plodded forward with heavy, sure feet. She was sweating and starving. Guilt started to edge in now that the novelty wore off, now that the excitement of having done something so adventurous and unlike her ebbed away. Exhaustion settled back into her bones.

Between the heat and the hunger and the shame of now being a thief, by the time she saw the first signs of Loch Awe’s community, a paranoia set into Gale’s mind. They’re going to know this is not my horse. She knew it was a crazy thought. There is no way that man had overtaken her and alerted anyone. She would have seen him. Still, she could not look at anyone as she steered the mare towards Rosalie’s new home.

The closer she came to her destination, the heavier her body and mind were. She was done. She was almost there. Thirst made her throat sore and raw. Her stomach roared. Her muscles ached. The sun touched her, and she felt her cheeks burn from exposure. In the distance, she could see it now. The pastures rolling out beneath the mountains. The long dirt path winding into the homestead seemed to stretch on forever. Gale’s head pounded, and the sun and lack of sleep made her slightly delirious. I’m going to faint. She tried to keep her eyes focused ahead, but her head swam and vision blurred.

“Gale?” Rosalie’s voice drew Gale’s attention towards her.

Gale looked up and felt as if she was trying to see through moving water. She opened her mouth to speak, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and the words did not come. Her friend looked more beautiful now than ever, with the sun shining at her back and her belly swollen huge with child.

Rosalie reached out to grab the reigns. Gale could barely keep seated in the saddle. Her body ached, the strain of the previous night, finally setting into its full effect. She swallowed, trying to gather as much moisture in her mouth as she could.

“Rosalie,” was all Gale could say. It came out in a cracked, hoarse whisper. Gale barely recognized her own voice.

She tried to sit up straight, but a pain tore through her belly, and her head swooned as the blood rushed too fast to her brain. Rosalie’s hands reached up to her, touching her torso. Gale could not move. She was done, defeated. It was as if her body knew in every fiber that she had made it and could rest.

“Ye got tae help me, Gale.”

Gale let out a heavy sigh and slumped over, sliding her body down the horse. In her mind, she was graceful, but her body was not working like it normally did. Her muscles were past their breaking point, and her brain was fuzzy. Everything seemed to move like in a dream. It was as if her brain shut off for a moment, and the next thing she knew, she was falling instead of dismounting from the horse. Rosalie stumbled, trying to help her, but Gale fainted.

Her eyes fluttered open in confusion. The back of her neck and head throbbed. She didn’t know it was from thirst or if she’d hit her head. Rosalie screamed at something, but the words seemed to run together, Gale’s brain not working fast enough to keep up. She tried to stand up, but she stumbled. Rosalie’s strong hand grabbed her shoulder. She led her forward towards the small cottage, supporting most of Gale’s weight.

“Sit down,” Rosalie commanded.

Gale sat on the stone step. She looked up at Rosalie and felt humiliation spread over her. Rosalie’s face was filled with confusion and concern. Gale suddenly realized how terrible she must look, how horrible her state was, and with no warning or explanation. Gale remembered the last time she saw Rosalie, how her mad mother had whipped the woman and locked her up in the tower Gale came to know too well throughout her youth. There was an unspoken bond that formed between them then—but that was years ago. It suddenly occurred to Gale that Rosalie probably never wanted to see anyone from Gale’s family again—a reminder of the horrid period of her life.

“I’m sorry—” Gale’s voice cracked.

“Shh, not now.”

A little boy handed Gale a dipper filled with water. She drank greedy gulps, relishing the cold liquid through her searing throat. Streams of water rolled down her chin, and almost immediately, the fog started to ebb from her mind. She must think I am mad.

“I didn’t know where else to turn.”

Rosalie brushed her fingers over Gale’s hair, trying to calm her. The touch was more soothing than anything Gale had felt in her life. Such a simple gesture made her feel safe. She felt tears choking her again, and it made her feel pathetic and weak. The water and tender touch reawakened a manic fright within her. Gale’s eyes were wide, her body trembled. She tried to stand before Rosalie grabbed her wrist and pulled for her to sit back down.

“I want ye to sit fer a moment.”

A little girl poked her head out from the cottage. She hid behind the door. Gale caught the girl’s eye, looking her up and down. She felt self-conscious and foolish beneath the gaze of the bairn. Rosalie reached her hand out, and the girl handed her a hunk of bread before disappearing back into the cottage with a quick slam of the door.

Rosalie rolled her eyes at the display and turned to Gale. “Can ye eat?”

Gale nodded, “Aye, thank ye.” It took all over self-control not to snatch the bread and swallow it whole. She reminded herself to eat slowly after going so long without a real meal.

They sat in silence while Gale nibbled at the bread and recovered her strength. Rosalie would not let her speak until after she rested.

The next hour passed in a haze. The fire crackled inside, warming Gale and lulling her into a relaxed state. She obeyed Rosalie, letting the woman remove the ruined clothes and put her in something clean. Gale’s eyes fixed on the garment pulled from her body. It was worse than she thought, torn and stained. She shuddered, thinking about how Rosalie might perceive her and was grateful Rosalie was just a common woman and not someone of importance.

The two children, whom Rosalie introduced as Hamish and Thomasina, soon forgot their shyness and crowded around them. Gale cowered within her skin under their constant gazes. The cottage was not what she expected from a Highland Chief and his wife. Everything seemed to be in one room, although Gale noticed a couple doors indicating more space beyond. There was a single bed next to the fire, almost touching their table. Gale did not have the energy to judge or care as she would in normal circumstances. When Rosalie pulled back the covers for her, she climbed in and fell immediately into a deep sleep.

“Gale, Gale…”

Someone touched Gale. She forgot, having made it to Rosalie. Her eyes flew wide in a panic, afraid she was asleep in the forest, and someone was trying to hurt her. She kicked out.

Rosalie held her tight, keeping her from thrashing. “Shh, tis alright. You’re safe now.”

“What’s wrong with her, Mama?” Thomasina played with her skirts. Gale watched the fabric swish back and forth, feeling small and embarrassed for her intrusion and desperation.

“She’s had a long journey, is all.”

Gale looked up at Declan. Rosalie’s husband looked at her, a scowl furrowing over her brow. She could see it all in his face; he was not feeling as generous as his wife. Gale could not tell if he was angry or afraid, but it made her wonder if she’d made a mistake by coming. Maybe I should have just stayed in the woods—lived there forever and risked the wolves eating me. Humiliation and self-pity and loathing burned her cheeks. She shrank under Declan’s stern gaze.

“Drink this.”

Gale took the glass, her hands noticeably shaking. The taste was velvet smooth. The rich bone broth calmed her and awakened her wits.

“Declan’s here, Gale, an’ we need to know what’s happenin’?”

Gale refrained from rolling her eyes. I’m not an idiot. I can see him judging me just fine. She crumpled over the cup and started to cry. Her bright blue eyes shone out like icy gems, contrasting against the reds and pinks of her irritated face. She tried to calm herself with deep breaths, her hands shaking as she forced down more of the broth.

“Pa is dead.” The image of his face was like someone stabbing her in the heart, “An’,” she sniffed, trying to keep from crying yet again, “an’ Ma, I think she means to kill me.” Gale did not want to look up at them and see their reaction. She snatched Rosalie’s hand and forced herself to peek up. Her eyes filled with desperation. “Please, I didn’t know who else tae go to. You must help me, Rosalie. There’s no one else I know who can.”

Declan grabbed the sleeve of Rosalie’s dress gently to pull her into a private conversation. Rosalie shrugged him off, intent on hearing Gale through before making a decision. “Calm down, Gale. Start from the beginnin’ an’ tell us what happened.”

Gale took a deep breath. “Ma kept gettin’ worse after ye left. She’d go through these states…” Gale squeezed her eyes shut as she thought of the things her mother did in her periods of madness—beating her, yelling at her, seeing things that were not there, and acting out in violence. “…Where she didn’t even recognize us. Sometimes thought we were different people—that she were different. This man came one day, said he were a doctor—that he could help her. Ma seemed to get better, but these delusions,” she gestured to the air, rolling her eyes up, “It were as if somethin’ possessed her when she’d have ‘em.” Gale struggled not to start crying again, “Her an’ this doctor were close. They got to a point where they were inseparable. Pa was gettin’ uncomfortable with it, said he weren’t helpin’ her anymore, an’ when he finally asked the doctor to leave, that’s when, when—” Sobs wracked her body.

Rosalie rubbed her back. Gale calmed herself enough to continue, the pitch of her voice squeaking with emotion. “The doctor said it were his heart…” Gale shook her head, remembering the wine glass spilling from her father’s hand and the way his face was distorted as if he choked to death. “After, within the week,” she exclaimed, “Ma started actin’ like it were her keep an’ talkin’ to an’ about that doctor as if they were already married. One o’ the workers made a comment abou’ how she weren’t the heir, I was. Ma and the doctor were in an outrage, fightin’ all evening.

“That night, he came into my room…” Gale closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, trying to force the feel of his hands, grabbing her from her memory. Her words burst out like venom pulled from a wound. “He tried to lay with me. He tried to convince me to marry him, that it was I he loved, not my mother, an’ when I refused him, he—he—” She started crying again. She couldn’t say it out loud, not with Declan there just staring at her. “I managed to get away, an’ this was the only place I knew I’d be safe from ‘em.”

Declan paced around the room, looking out the small shutters for signs of danger. “Do ye ken if ye were followed?” Gale shook her head in negation. “Rosie, outside.”

Rosalie smiled at Gale. “Jus’ give us a moment.” She turned to her children. “Hamish, stoke the fire. Thomasina, keep our guest comfortable.”

“Aye, Ma.”

Gale could hear the occasional raised voice as Declan and Rosalie talked just outside. She wrung her hands. If they turned her away, there was nowhere to go. If they didn’t help her and hide her, it was over. She knew she could not endure anymore.


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A Highlander Marked by Fate – Extended Epilogue

Kirklinton, Twenty Years Later

 There was a huge splash, and Margaret let out a shriek, as Rory plunged into the woodland pool from above, spraying her with water, as she sat at the edge by the waterfall.

“Rory, you are like the children, even they are old enough now not to leap into the pool in such a way,” she said, laughing, as he emerged, his hair streaked down around his ears, dripping wet as he climbed out onto the bank.

He shook himself, spraying her with water and causing her to shriek and run from the side of the pool as he chased her.

“Then ye must jump in too, Margaret. Tis’ a hot day, come now, ye need to cool off,” he cried, as she ran from his embrace.

“I have no desire to get any wetter than I already am,” she cried, but it was too late, and now he had her in his arms, carrying her back to the water’s edge.

“I shall dae it, I shall dae it,” he cried, holding her over the water, as she let out a scream.

“And I shall never speak to you again, you awful brute,” she cried, as he pulled her back and brought her into his embrace.

“Would I dae such a thing?” he asked, and she laughed.

“Not if you valued your life, you would not,” she said, and he kissed her.

“Another day, perhaps,” he said, smiling as he set her down carefully on the ground.

“How nice to be alone,” she said, laying back in the sun and smiling up at him.

“Just as we used to. Dae ye remember the walks we would take out here after we were married, the days we would spend here by the pool,” he said, and she nodded.

“Without care or worry to our name,” she replied, and he nodded.

“And we are still blessed with few worries to this day,” he said, coming to lie down in the sun next to her.

“Oh, you are still wet, Rory, I hope the sun will dry you before we walk back to Kirklinton,” she said, and rolled over and kissed him again.

“Well, now that ye are wet, why nae join me for a swim,” he said, looking at her mischievously.

“No, besides, we had best get home. Otherwise, Evie and Hamish shall be at Kirklinton before us,” Margaret said, rising to her feet and stretching out in the sun.

It was the height of summer, the sun casting dappled shadows through the canopy of trees above and the birds singing all around. Together, Margaret and Rory walked hand in hand through the forest, speaking of old times and remembering the past.

“I wonder what tales we shall hear from the children,” Rory said, and Margaret laughed.

“They are hardly children, Bryce and Hanna are grown up and are almost of age. They are growin’ up fast,” Margaret replied, as they came to a fork in the forest path.

“Perhaps we shall gather some mushrooms to take back with us. There was a dampness in the air last night, and now this heat from the sun. There are bound to be mushrooms aplenty beneath the shade,” Rory said, pointing along the path.

“Well, we must be quick, the sun is well past its midpoint, and we still have an hour or so to walk back to Kirklinton,” Margaret said.

“We shall look over here, come now and … oh,” Rory said, as they entered a little clearing, only to find a little old woman, bent double and picking mushrooms from beneath a tree.

She looked up as they approached and nodded to them.

“The Laird honors us with his presence, God bless ye, sir,” she said, bowing to him.

“Good woman, ye daenae need to bow to me. How did ye know I was the Laird, have I met with ye before?” he asked, and the old woman smiled.

“There is nay mistakin’ ye for the Laird and this yer fair and beautiful wife. May there be much blessin’ for ye to come in this life and the next,” she said.

“We had hoped to gather mushrooms to take back to Kirklinton, but ye need them more than we,” Rory said, nodding to her and smiling.

“There are plenty of mushrooms for us all, sir. The forests are yers, and ye have kept the peace here these many years past. The earth can spare mushrooms for us both, here take a few of mine,” she said, offering the ones she had picked.

“Good woman, nay, ye are too kind,” Rory said, but the old woman insisted, thrusting them into Margaret’s hands and fixing her with a smile.

“Aye, and ye have been the blessin’ that he sought, that which he knew nae,” she said, as though talking to herself.

“What dae ye mean?” Rory asked, but the old woman only smiled and tutted to herself.

“Only the words of an old woman who has seen much of life, sir. But I know that now yer life will be blessed, I am certain of that,” she said, and she waved them off, as she made her way from the forest clearing, waving to them as she went and beginning to sing.

“What a curious creature,” Margaret said, looking down at the mushrooms and back at Rory, who shrugged his shoulders.

“The woodlands are full of such strange people,” he replied, taking her by the hand as they walked together out onto the moorlands.

The afternoon sun had turned the heathers a rich and beautiful golden purple, the moorlands stretching out in front towards rolling hills in the north. Margaret breathed in the fresh scent of the breeze, which seemed sweet and invigorating after the closeness of the forest.

Together, they walked towards Kirklinton, eager to return and see Evie and Hamish. The sun was at its afternoon point, and tonight there would be a feast to celebrate their reunion, for it had been a month since last they had seen one another.

As they approached the turning to Lochrutton, they paused by the graves of Isla and Fraser, now buried together after Isla’s death some ten years previously. Margaret stopped and picked a posy of flowers from the wayside; the two of them entered the graveyard, laying the flowers and pausing for a moment to pay their respects.

“I often wonder what my father would make of these long years of peace,” Rory said, sighing and looking out across the moorlands.

“He would be proud of his son for all that ye have done to make that peace work,” Margaret said, slipping her arm through Rory’s.

“He would be astonished to think that the Musgraves have given us nay trouble in all these years,” Rory replied, shaking his head.

They set off along the track towards Kirklinton, the castle appearing particularly beautiful in the late afternoon sun with the banner of the Elliotts fluttering above.

“On days like this, I almost like the old place, though I should still prefer to reside in Armstrong castle,” Rory said, as they came to the gates.

“And you would be miserable there, for you would never receive a single visitor or hear anything from anyone,” Margaret said, smiling at Rory, who laughed.

“Aye, perhaps ye are right,” he said, as they came into the courtyard.

It seemed that their guests had beaten them, their horses just being stabled. A moment later, there came a call from the steps of the keep, and Evie and Hamish hurried down to greet them.

“We thought we were late in arrivin’, but it seems our hosts lingered in the forest,” Evie said, embracing Margaret and Rory in turn.

“Someone wanted me to swim with him,” Margaret said, shaking her head.

“Ah, well, we called in on Caitlin too, she is well,” Evie said, and Margaret smiled.

“She is always a good friend to us, we see her often with Hector as they drive their sheep upon the moorlands,” Rory said, as the four of them made their way inside.

“Tis’ good to be back at Kirklinton. I may nae have called it home these many years past, but it shall always be so,” Evie said, as they entered the great hall, with its long tables and the Elliott coat of arms hanging proudly upon the wall.

“The scene of much happiness and heartache, that is what I always say,” Rory said, settling himself down by the hearth.

Margaret sat next to him, and Evie and Hamish sat opposite.

“What of Grant and Ailsa, will we see them while we are here?” Evie asked, and Margaret smiled.

“Elsa is away visitin’ with Owen at Lanercost, she loves to see her uncle, or so she says,” Margaret replied, shaking her head.

“And Grant?” Hamish asked.

“Away down in Lochrutton today, though he shall be back by nightfall. Tis’ strange how they call upon him when someone is sick, he is just like our father,” Rory said, and Evie smiled.

“Those healin’ hands,” she said, and the others nodded.

“And what of your children? Though they can hardly be called children any longer, just like our own. How quickly they grow up. It is twenty years this month that we were married,” Margaret said, glancing at Rory, who smiled.

“Bryce is headstrong like his father, Hanna is a gentle creature, shy and timid. She spends most of her time upon the moorlands, it would dae her good to see her cousins, she and Elsa have always got on,” Evie said, and Margaret nodded.

“But enough of the youngsters, for now, we should drink a toast to these past twenty years,” Hamish said, and Evie nodded.

“Aye, a toast to the Laird of the Elliotts and to his wife, a true Elliott if ever there was one,” she said, as Rory called to the servants for whiskey to be brought.

“I have not felt like an English woman in many a year, I have not set foot below the border in twenty years, though my accent continues to betray me,” Margaret said, as glasses were handed around.

“An honorary Scot but a true Elliott,” Evie said, raising her glass.

“Then let the toast be to peace and prosperity, to thanksgiving and to good health and long life,” Hamish said.

“And for ye and yer clan too, Hamish,” Rory said, raising his glass.

“Two names and yet one true family and friendship. For twenty years, we have enjoyed that peace, and may it last another twenty years, for so long as we have breath, we shall make it so,” Hamish replied, and they clinked their glasses together and drank.

“And let us toast the happiness of marriage too,” Evie said, smiling at Margaret.

“And the strength of us women for putting up with these two for so long,” Margaret said, laughing as she turned to Rory and smiled.

“I shall remember that lass, and I shall remember to be less merciful the next time ye beg me nae to throw ye in the pool,” he said, and leaning forward he kissed her, as they toasted the happiness of marriage and the hope of a future yet to come.

 

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If you want to know what lies ahead in our story, you may want to get the sequel…

Owen Elliott’s attempt to save Charlotte from danger results in despair and anguish. But when their paths cross again years later, neither knows who is standing in front of them. And yet love always comes unexpectedly and takes refuge in their hearts, ignoring that one should never fall for the enemy… At least if you don’t want to have your heart broken once again.


A Highlander Bound by Oath

A Highlander Marked by Fate (Preview)

Chapter I

Rory Elliott was restless. He gazed out of the window across the moorlands towards Lochrutton, sighing as he did so.

“Tis’ nay use,” he said out loud, “I am like a prisoner in my own home.”

He got up and made his way from his chambers and down into the great hall. His mother was there, and she looked and smiled at him, as he scowled back.

“Now then, Rory, what is it that ails ye?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

“I am tired of bein’ here in the castle. Why does father insist that I remain here while he is away?” Rory said.

His father had been visiting the Laird of Klinross, a two-day journey to the north. In his absence, Rory had been left in charge of the castle and the clan. A fitting test for one who would one day be Laird.

“Because yer father has given ye a responsibility, Rory. He trusts ye, does that nae mean anything to ye?” his mother asked.

Rory nodded. It meant a great deal to him, but still, it frustrated him. His brother Owen was in the monastery at Lanercost, living out his religious vocation and his sister Evie was happily married and living with her husband Hamish and her children at the castle of the McBryde’s, some miles to the east. Only he, Rory Elliott, was living precisely the same life as he had always lived.

It was a life devoid of interest unless one counted the archery and swordsmanship, which his father made him practice almost daily. He would ride out at his father’s side or visit tenants and crofters on the high moorlands. But Rory was always his father’s second. This was the first time any responsibility had been given him, and far from being excited by the prospect, he still found himself as though tethered to the Laird’s apron strings.

“It does. But … if I am to be Laird, I must have more trust placed in me. By ye and by my father,” he said, eyeing his mother for her reaction.

She smiled, shaking her head and beginning to work once more on her spinning wheel.

“Ye are headstrong, Rory. Just like yer father. But he was less impatient than ye. He dreaded the day yer grandfather died. The thought of that responsibility filled him with terror. If truth be told, I think it still does,” she said.

Rory found that hard to believe. His father was every bit the noble warrior, a man feared and respected in equal measure. The Elliotts were a proud clan and used to fighting battles against overwhelming odds. Was it not his father who had led them to victory over the Musgraves and who kept the uneasy peace upon the borders? Fraser Elliott took his responsibility seriously, and he had long impressed upon Rory the need to do the same.

“Father is nae afraid of anythin’, and neither am I. I would face a thousand Musgraves right now, but instead I am sat here mindin’ the affairs of peasants, while father is away on the true duties of a Laird,” Rory replied.

“And takin’ care of yer dear mother too. The true duties of a Laird are many, and ye would dae well to know that, Rory,” Isla replied, somewhat pointedly.

Rory sighed. He wanted an adventure, something to lift him from the monotony of life at Kirklinton.

“And I dae that gladly, mother. But I am tired of bein’ here right now. Owen has his life, Evie has hers. What is there for me?” he asked.

“Think of it this way, son. Owen’s life is decided for him at Lanercost, his vows of poverty and obedience mean he cannae leave, and Evie will live out her days with Hamish at the castle of the McBryde’s. They are happy, of course, but ye still have the future to look forward to. Who knows what adventures ye might have?” his mother replied.

Rory nodded. His mother was right, of course. To wish his place as Laird fulfilled was also to wish the sad death of his father. Fraser Elliott had been in ill health lately, a recent illness almost having taken him before his time. But he had rallied, as strong as an ox, as his sister Evie might say.

Rory did not wish his father dead, not for a moment. But he longed for something more, some excitement in his life to break from the normal drab and daily grind of peasant’s work and oversight. He was no farmer, he was a warrior, and right now, he longed for adventure.

“I suppose so,” was all he could reply, and his mother laughed.

“Oh, Rory. Ye always were so headstrong. If ye cannae tolerate bein’ here a moment longer then why daenae ye walk to Lanercost with yer uncle. He is leavin’ Kirklinton shortly, and ye can take my love to yer brother and tell him to visit us soon,” she said.

“But father said …” Rory began, and his mother raised her hand.

“Yer father is nae here. Go, Rory, I will be quite all right here. There are soldiers aplenty, and I have old Sweeney for company. I am just glad that ye shall have time to think a little. Be on yer way,” she said.

Rory did not need telling twice, and he hurried off to find his uncle and prepare for the journey. It may not have been the grand adventure he dreamt of. But right now, anything was better than sitting in the castle, listening to the complaints of crofters, and collecting taxes for his father. Rory was ready to stretch his legs, and he made his way to the courtyard, where he found his uncle preparing to depart.

“Ah, well now, my nephew,” his uncle said, smiling at him, as Rory entered the stable.

“Mother has told me that I am to escort ye to Lanercost,” Rory said, not wishing to reveal the precise reason why he was taking to the path.

“Did yer father nae give ye instructions to remain here while he was away. Unless trouble flared up along the borders?” his uncle asked.

Rory’s uncle had a way of seeing beyond words to the truth, and it was clear he considered his nephew to be lying. Rory blushed and nodded.

“Aye, uncle. But my mother has said differently,” he replied.

Duncan shrugged his shoulders and smiled. He had an elderly look about him, though he was younger than Rory’s father by several years. It was his long white beard, which made him look thus and his enormous eyebrows, which seemed to grow bushier with every visit.

“I shall be glad of the company along the path. Ye can protect me from brigands and outlaws,” his uncle said, laughing and shaking his head.

The path to Lanercost was a safe one, thanks to Rory’s father. There had been peace along the borders these past years, and Rory had not had cause to lift a sword in anger for months. The last time had been a simple dispute between crofters, one easily resolved when the Laird had threatened to banish both parties from the clan if they did not desist in their argument.

“I am sure that nay one would attack a monk of Lanercost,” Rory said, though he tied his sword belt to his waist just in case.

“A monk is as much a target as a Laird. More so, since any would-be thief knows that I would turn the other cheek,” his uncle said, laughing once more and shaking his head.

“The truth is, I will be glad of the journey, and I should like to see Owen,” Rory said, as Duncan led him across the courtyard.

“Ye miss yer brother?” his uncle said, as the gates of the castle were swung open for them.

“I … well, I envy him at times,” Rory replied.

“Ye used to call him ‘little monk’ and mock him for his piety,” his uncle said, walking next to Rory through the gates.

“Aye … that was only a joke, Uncle Duncan. I daenae mean I envy his life. Though I can see it makes him happy. But I … I envy that he has found his way and …” Rory began.

“Ye are still searchin’ for yers? It will come, nephew. Give it time. While yer father lives, ye shall always be in his shadow. Think of Hamish McBryde. He lived in his father’s shadow for years, and it was only upon his death that life changed for him. Daenae wish too hard though, or ye may get yer wish. God listens to the thoughts of our hearts, and he can read yers as though they were written in a book,” his uncle replied, shaking his head.

They walked on in silence for a while, crossing over the moorland path which led towards Lochrutton. It was a pleasant day, the clouds high in the sky, and a gentle breeze blowing across the sweet-smelling heathers. Rory watched as a hawk circled above, diving like an arrow to catch its unseen prey below. How he admired its freedom and the way it seemed to soar so majestically above them, monarch of all that it surveyed.

“Is Owen happy?” Rory asked as they took to the path west towards Lanercost.

“Aye, yer brother is happy. He is a monk,” Rory’s uncle said, laughing, as was his habit for he always seemed to have such peace about him, a peace which Rory envied at times.

“I didnae mean that. Is he happy that he has found his way?” Rory said, and his uncle paused.

“What is it that troubles ye, Rory? Ye are askin’ about others happiness, what of yer own. Are ye nae happy?” his uncle said.

Rory paused for a moment, uncertain of how to reply. Once again, his uncle seemed to have a  way of seeing through his words to the truth, and he knew that a lie would never get past him.

“I … I daenae know. Sometimes I am, and sometimes I am nae,” he replied.

“Well, that is nay answer, lad. Ye may as well say that sometimes ye are hungry and sometimes ye are nay. It means nothin’ until tis’ one or the other,” his uncle replied.

Rory sighed. He wasn’t happy, not really. He had a burning desire inside him for something more than the everyday existence he was living. He longed for adventure or the chance to prove himself. Something to lift him from the drudgery of life and offer him the opportunity to show his father and others what he was made of. That, and he wanted a wife and not just any wife, the woman he had so long desired and who was forever out of his reach. He was restless and could only admit that he was not happy at all

“What have I achieved? I am nae the Laird, I have nay responsibility, and I have nay wife. Owen has found his vocation, and Evie is happy with Hamish and the children. What dae I have?” Rory said.

“Opportunity, lad,” his uncle replied, patting him on the shoulder.

“What?” Rory asked, surprised by his uncle’s words, which seemed almost meaningless.

“Why does everyone think they must have everything their heart desires in an instant? Tis’ nonsense, ye still have the chance to make somethin’ of yer life. Ye are twenty-five years old, Rory. Why dae ye want everythin’ now? Is life a journey or a destination? The destination for us all is heaven, so enjoy the journey and daenae worry about arrivin’ at somethin’ before ye are ready for it,” his uncle replied.

Rory nodded, his uncle was always so wise and knew just the thing to say. It made sense, of course, just like everything the monk said. He was the smartest person Rory knew, far more so than his headstrong father.

“Aye, uncle,” he replied as they set off together along the path west.

“I might nae know much of the ways of the world. I have been a monk these many years past, but I know about the soul, and I know that ye are restless, Rory. But have patience,” his uncle said.

“I know, tis’ hard, though, but …” Rory said, but he had no time to finish his words, as the sight of something ahead caused him to startle and turn to his uncle in alarm.

There, heading straight towards them, were three English soldiers, their swords drawn and angry looks upon their faces.

Chapter II

It was too late to run away, and he was no match for the men alone. His uncle bore no arms, but Rory drew his sword anyway, as the three men advanced towards them along the track.

Each bore the insignia of the Musgraves, and Rory knew from the stories told him by his father and the times he’d encountered them before, that the Musgraves were more likely to attack than listen to reason.

“You there, boy,” one of them called out, “what business do you have wandering along this path?”

“Our business is our own,” Rory replied, stepping forward between his uncle and the men.

“A Scot and a monk. What clan are you?” the lead soldier asked, advancing ahead of the others and drawing his sword.

He had a nasty look to him, a scar running down his cheek, and his sword was bloodied and sharp.

Rory wondered whether to make up a story and tell a lie. The Musgraves would not take kindly to discovering that he was an Elliott, for the Musgraves were bitter enemies of his father, as they had been of his grandfather before. But it was his uncle who stepped forward, holding up his hands in a sign of peace.

“Come now, lads, can ye nae see that I am a monk of Lanercost? I bear nay arms, and this lad here is accompanyin’ me to the monastery where his brother is a novice. Let us be about our business, and we shall let ye be about yers. I will pray for ye,” Rory’s uncle said.

But the lead soldier only shook his head and laughed.

“An old monk and a boy with a dagger in his hand, what nonsense. You say his brother is a novice at Lanercost? Is not the Elliott Laird’s son a novice? And would you be the Laird’s brother? I have had dealings with the Elliotts these many years past. I know an Elliott when I see one. This boy must be Rory, am I right?” the soldier said, turning to the others and laughing.

Rory wanted to rush forward and clash swords with them. But what good would it do? He would only be outnumbered, and no doubted injured or worse. He replaced his sword in its hilt and turned away.

“We have nay business fightin’ with ye,” his uncle said, “come now… Andrew, let us be on our way.”

“Andrew?” the soldier said, “do you really expect us to believe that? You are Rory Elliott, and you, old man, are Duncan Elliott. We are not fools, and we know our enemy when we see him. Come now, boy, let us see what you are made of. Fight me,” the soldier said, stepping in front of Rory and pointing his sword at him.

“I have nay desire to fight ye,” Rory said, though every instinct he possessed was saying different.

“So, you do not deny that you are Rory Elliott?” the soldier said.

“Careful,” Rory’s uncle whispered to him as Rory raised his sword.

“I will nae fight ye,” Rory said, shaking his head.

“And what if I wish to fight you? What then? Will you deny the challenge?” the soldier asked.

“He is a coward,” one of the others said, “they all are. These Scots are no better than dogs. You have heard the stories of how his father begged for mercy on the battlefield and then ran the noble Howard Musgrave through when his back was turned.”

At these lies, Rory’s face flushed with anger, and he raised his once again, ready to strike the man for his insults.

“Peace,” his uncle called out, but Rory’s sword had already clashed with that of the soldier, who laughed as he took up the challenge.

“You see, he is who we say he is. The fool has revealed himself,” he cried.

“I am nay fool,” Rory said, lunging forward and causing the soldier to stumble backward.

Quickly, he regained his footing, bringing his sword clashing against Rory’s, as the other soldiers urged him on.

“Strike the runt, see him dead,” they cried out, as Rory’s uncle watched in horror.

“Nay, peace,” he cried out, but, as he did so, an astonishing thing happened.

The English soldier had just raised his sword to strike Rory a vicious blow when a dagger whistled through the air. It hit the English soldier in the back, and he fell down with a cry, as the other two spun around in disbelief. They drew their swords, but Rory had rushed forward, striking one hard as he let out an anguished cry. The other turned tail and fled, leaving his fellow soldiers lying dead by the trail, as Rory and Duncan looked around in astonishment.

“What?” Duncan said, “where?”

“Over there,” Rory said, pointing through the trees.

There, standing tall and proud, was a beautiful woman. The sight of her quite took Rory’s breath away, and he was amazed that they had been rescued, not by any man, but by a woman with long auburn hair and a proud look on her face. Now, she stepped out of the trees and approached them, and with every step, she appeared more beautiful.

As she came to stand before them, she looked down at the English soldiers and up at Rory, who shook his head in disbelief. He had never seen such a woman before, her piercing green eyes locked with his,  a look of satisfaction on her face.

“Who are ye?” his uncle asked, and she looked away, as though unwilling to reveal the truth.

“A friend it seems,” she said, in an English accent.

But, as she did so, she raised her hand to her forehead. She turned back to Rory, her cheeks suddenly growing pale before she sank to the ground with a sigh.

“Quickly, she is delirious,” Rory’s uncle said, rushing forward to catch her.

Rory stooped down, cradling the woman in his arms. She really was very beautiful, with pale soft skin and long hair trailing across her shoulders. She murmured something, but Rory could not understand what she was saying, and he looked up at his uncle in alarm.

“What is wrong with her, uncle?” he said, but Duncan shook his head.

“I daenae know, lad. But quickly, we must get her to Lanercost. We are too far from Kirklinton to turn back now. Besides, the apothecary will know better than we what to dae,” his uncle replied.

The woman was barely conscious, and it seemed that in the excitement of the fight, she had fainted, though she continued to mutter under her breath in words that Rory could not discern. He thought he heard the word “Musgrave” and perhaps ‘soldier,’ but that was all. Together, he and his uncle helped her stand and carried her between them along the path towards the monastery.

“What if more soldiers are on the road ahead?” Rory said, glancing warily around.

“I daenae think there will be. Those men had nay business on this path, though it worries me why they were here. The English are growin’ bolder of late, and we have heard reports of English soldiers as far north as Buccleuch, unheard of before,” his uncle replied.

Rory nodded. He felt nervous, but the need to get the woman to safety spurned him on. She had saved their lives, and they owed her that much, if not far more. He kept a close watch on the path either side, looking out for any further ambush. But it seemed the way was quiet, and they met no one until they came in sight of Lanercost.

The ancient monastery sat close to a river, surrounded by farmland and paddock. A motley collection of houses had grown up around it, inhabited by peasants who worked the land alongside the monks.

Rory was glad at the sight of the red sandstone walls, bathed in the late afternoon sun. He had always loved visiting his uncle at Lanercost, and he was looking forward to seeing Owen again too. But the presence of this mysterious woman was unsettling, and the sooner her identity was discovered, the better.

“What dae ye think can be done for her?” Rory asked as they came towards the monastery gates.

“We shall see, lad. I think she is simply in shock, there are herbs and remedies to help her. If only yer father were here, tis’ ailments like this that he was often called upon to assist with. His healin’ hands as they used to say,” Duncan replied.

“My father was well known for it, but of late he …” Rory began.

“Of late he has had other matters to attend to. Come now, let us get her inside,” Duncan said.

They helped the woman along the track, and, as they did so, several of the peasants peered curiously around their doors.

“Brother Duncan, what is this? Who is this woman? Is she hurt?” one of them asked, stepping forward.

“Tis’ all right, she will be fine. We came across her on our way here from Kirklinton. Tell the others to take refuge in the monastery walls this night. There are English soldiers on the path, and ye will be safer behind our gates,” Duncan replied.

The gates of the monastery were open, as they always were in the day, for the monks welcomed travelers and pilgrims. As they came to the threshold, an elderly monk stepped out from the gatehouse with a curious expression on his face, holding up his hands.

“Brother Duncan, the prior has been lookin’ for ye, but what is this?” he asked.

He was ancient, with a beard like Duncan’s almost down to his waist and with a keen eye and a look of wisdom about him.

“This lass saved our lives on the path. I would have been back far sooner, but we were set upon by three English soldiers, and if it were nae for her, we wouldnae have survived. My headstrong nephew here was ready to fight them, but this lass intervened, much to our benefit,” Duncan replied.

The monk appeared worried, glancing over Rory’s shoulder as though he expected to see an army of English soldiers charging up the track towards the monastery.

“We should sound the bells, call the peasants inside the walls,” he said, and Duncan nodded.

“I have already told the villagers to seek shelter here. Though I daenae think that even the English are bold enough to attack a place of peace and prayer,” Duncan said.

“Ye daenae know what the English are capable of, Duncan. They killed my parents long ago, and they will kill us all in our beds one day, ye mark my words,” the monk replied, shaking his head.

“Nay one will kill ye in yer bed, Seth. I promise ye that,” Duncan replied, “but now, we need to get this lass to the apothecary. Is there space in the infirmary for her?”

“Aye, the two who were sick have left us now. Take her there, and we shall pray for her recovery and the safety of us all,” the monk replied.

Rory and his uncle helped the woman through the gates and into the cloister. It was an ancient place and had stood for some five hundred years, its bell now tolling out from the great tower above. There was a sense of timelessness here, for it had been a place of constant prayer in good times and bad.

They made their way through the cloister’s arches towards a staircase that wound up to the monk’s refectory above, opposite, which was the infirmary. The woman was trying to say something, but still, her words were delirious and muddled.

“Tis all right,” Rory said, as they came to the great old oak door of the infirmary, “now ye shall have the help ye need.”

Duncan pushed open the door, revealing the infirmary beyond. It was a large hall, beamed in heavy oak, and with a row of neatly made beds along one side. The sun was streaming through the windows, and on the other wall were shelves lined with hundreds of dusty old bottles and books.

At the sound of the door opening, one of the monks looked up from his duties. He was young, no older than Rory, his hair tonsured in the same manner as Duncan’s, and was tending to a man lying in a bed at the far end.

“Brother Duncan, dae ye bring me another patient?” he asked, looking at the woman.

“Aye, Callum, we met this lass on the path between here and Kirklinton. She collapsed shortly after rescuin’ us from English soldiers who attacked us. She seems delirious, too,” Duncan replied.

“Then get her to bed, we shall to see to her,” he replied, hurrying over and calling out to another monk who sat at a table by the window writing in a large ledger book, “Brother Luke, bring lavender oil and we shall see if we might revive her.”

The other monk went to the shelves, pulling out a large bottle of purple liquid, as Rory and Duncan helped the woman onto one of the beds. Rory was pleased to see her settled there. It had been a long walk to Lanercost, and he was tired, as was his uncle, who sat down heavily on a chair at the side of the bed.

“What a thing, God bless the lass for helping us,” he said, mopping his brow.

Brother Callum poured some of the oil into a dish and held it carefully by the woman’s face. The scent of it seemed to revive her immediately, and she opened her eyes, blinking in the light, and trying to sit up.

“Tis’ all right,” Brother Callum said, “ye are amongst friends here.”

The woman looked nervously around her, but all of a sudden, she fell back onto the bed as the monks tried to catch her.

“Tis’ some illness of the mind,” Brother Luke said, “perhaps a stronger method of revival is needed?”

Brother Callum nodded, turning to the shelves and pondering the array of remedies before him.

“I think,” he said, turning back to Rory and Duncan, “that it would be best if ye left us to care for her. I will send for ye when she is revived. I daenae think she is permanently damaged. There is shock in her, and shock must be rested and allowed to subside. We will dae all we can for her in the meantime, I promise ye. It will soon be time for the evening office. Prayer is yer duty now.”

Duncan nodded and stood up wearily from his seat.

“Come now, Rory. We shall see yer brother after we have sung the evening office,” he said.

Rory nodded. He paused a moment, looking down at the woman laid peacefully on the bed before him. She really was very beautiful, despite her pale face. Her hair was thick, falling across the pillow on which she lay, and he could hardly take his eyes from her, her cheeks soft and supple, her eyes now closed as she breathed gently in the peace of sleep. He had never seen such a woman before, and she was surely no peasant. Who was she? Where had she come from? And why would an English woman attack English soldiers in defense of two Scots? It was a mystery and one he had every intention of solving.


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Temptation in the Highlands – Extended Epilogue

Julia and Calum walked together by the shore of the Sound, Julia’s arm in Calum’s. Uncle Andrew was gone now, and both Julia and Calum had settled into a comfortable life together, free from his poisonous presence.

Julia sighed with contentment and caught Calum’s eye. “I have never been happier, Calum. I hope you know that.”

Calum smiled. “Aye, lass, that I do, but I’m still glad tae hear it from ye now and again. Are ye sad that Charlotte will be leaving us soon?”

Julia nodded. “Yes, I will miss her terribly. She has been like a balm to help me heal from all those years under Uncle Andrew’s thumb. But I am glad she won’t be far. Of course, we must soon go to London for the trial.”

They had received word from the lawyers that their presence would be required in a few weeks. Calum said, “Aye, but we willnae be in London long, Julia. I think ‘twill be a quick and easy trial. There are many witnesses against yer Uncle, I am sure.”

Julia sighed. “Yes, you’re right. I just hate to leave Charlotte alone. She has been to Scotland before, but now it will be for a much longer time, and there will be hardly any other women at the barracks. Unless there is another General coming with his wife.”

Calum winked. “I’m sure Angus will take care of the lass. He’s had his hands full with her already.”

Julia turned to him, a smile on her face. “Yes, what is going on? I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it, and she avoids the subject as well. He’s always telling her what to do or fighting against her ideas. It seems that stoic Angus is back. It’s quite entertaining. But, I thought they’d get on well, and they’re always arguing. Or Charlotte’s yelling at him, and he looks solemn and grim.”

Calum laughed. “Angus has said naught tae me except tae complain about her strong-headedness. He feels ‘tis his duty or something tae watch over her as a guest of yorn. But there is more than meets the eye. Of that, I am sure. I’ve not seen my brother get so angry about anything for years. I think she’s getting tae him.”

Julia put her arms about Calum’s neck and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I hope so. How lovely would it be if they were tae fall in love?”

Calum said, “I doubt that, but we shall see. I think other matters are on my mind at the moment if we could forget my brother and Charlotte.” He leaned down to kiss her, but Julia pulled away and pointed away towards the hill.

“Look! Angus and Charlotte on the hill together.” She laughed, “It appears she is once again giving him a piece of her mind.”

Calum sighed with disappointment at the interruption of his amorous thoughts. But he couldn’t help but chuckle at the verbal beating Angus was getting. “That cousin of yorn has quite the tongue.”

Julia smiled. “That she does. And I admire her for it. Keeps a man on his toes.”  She looked at Calum with a lifted eyebrow.

“I have done naught. Dinnae turn her acid tongue ontae me!”

Julia laughed and kissed Calum once again, feeling like life could not get any better.

***

Charlotte Andrews was frustrated. She was used to getting her way, her father was like putty in her hands, and now someone kept fighting against her with his superior air and grim attitude: Angus MacLean. Ever since she had struggled to keep Uncle Andrew from the brink of death, he had fought her every suggestion and defied her instruction.

He was a man who did not like to be bossed around, but if she was the smarter one in certain areas, like medicine, then why would he not oblige? She was still frustrated about the time when Angus and Calum went without her to Fort William, not allowing her to take part in the plan to save Julia from harm.

It had been my idea, and they did it without me. Men, always thinking that they are better than women in every area. Who needs them? 

Even though it had been explained that it was for the sake of her safety, she still couldn’t help be angry. But what annoyed her, even more, was the way that Angus looked at her whenever they were all together. He was stiff, stoic, and grim in his body language, but he always watched her, and his eyes told a different story.

It made Charlotte frustrated that she found him so handsome, the most handsome man she had ever met, and she had met quite a few at the balls in London. Most men were usually falling over themselves to speak to her.

But why should she even care about what he thought? It wasn’t as if she was going to marry him. Charlotte Andrews, a well-known lady in the high society of London, marry a Highlander? Albeit a ruggedly handsome, magnificently well-formed one?

She had stayed on the Isle of Mull to assist in Uncle Andrew’s health and would soon be returning to her father, who had just been transferred to Fort William to be General there. He helped in John Campbell’s case, and at her urging, and his conscience, he freed the man, wrote a judgment letter for General Whiteman, and packed Andrew away to London for his trial.

She wanted to savor every last minute of her time at Duart Castle before she had to go and live at the barracks. She hated to leave Julia just as they’d been so gloriously reunited, but it would be unseemly if she continued to stay there. She enjoyed the freshness of the beautiful isle, and the walk allowed her time to breathe and think all by herself, without someone getting in the way.

She decided to climb the nearby hills to get a better view of the water. “Bloody skirts,” she yelled to the air as she struggled to climb freely, attempting to avoid tripping. The wind was no help either, as the higher she climbed, the stronger it blew so that she felt like she was almost falling backward.

She took another step as she crested the hill, and cried out, “Oh!” as a giant gust of wind pushed her backward, and she began to fall. But then, strong hands grabbed her around the waist and held her steady.

“Ye all right, lass?” she heard over the gust of wind. The voice was all too familiar, and she looked down to see the workworn hands holding her waist tightly. The feeling gave her too much pleasure, and she hurriedly pushed them away and turned to face her rescuer.

“I am very well; thank you. I would have been just fine. ‘Tis simply the wind. I am perfectly able to climb a hill by myself. What are you doing here? Come to instruct me in the ways of climbing?”

Angus was looking up at her angry expression, red curls swirling about her face, their strands whipping across her pink lips.

Charlotte tried to stay angry and show it, but it was growing harder to do so, with Angus’ beautiful light brown eyes looking through her. She lifted her chin slightly, and Angus responded.

“‘Tis a fool’s errand tae climb in such a gale. Ye might fall tae yer death, lass.”

“There you go again, telling me what to do, and enjoying it tremendously, no doubt. There is no end to your admonishments.” She threw up her hands and nearly fell again, but Angus’s hand was there once more to catch her. She looked up and thought she saw a flicker of mirth in his eyes, but it went away just as quickly.

She huffed and began to walk down the hill, Angus following after. “I was only trying tae help the cousin of my sister-in-law from breaking her bloody neck,” he said once they reached the bottom, the noise of the strong wind softening.

Charlotte looked forward. “Your interventions are unnecessary, Mr. MacLean. I do not need any bloody assistance. I’m certain it bothers you very much to put yourself out in this way.”

“Does yer cousin know ye swear like an angry Highlander fighting a boar?”

Charlotte tried not to smile at such a line. She wouldn’t let him see that she thought him funny.  “Yes, she knows very well. I care nothing about what society thinks of me. I shall do as I please.”

Angus walked faster and moved around so that he could face her. Seeing him in her way, Charlotte put her hands on her hips and stopped. He was so tall that she had to crane her neck to look into his eyes when standing on flat ground.

Angus continued, his jaw clenched. “Aye, I know ye will do as ye like. Ye often do. But dinnae get yerself killed in the process, or Lady MacLean will have my head.” He then turned his back to her and walked towards the castle.

Charlotte yelled back. “Are you no longer my protector then? Good riddance!”

She watched his back for a moment and then turned the opposite way. “Infuriating man! How dare he? No English gentleman would speak to a lady in such a way!”

Good thing she was leaving soon so that she could escape Angus MacLean as quickly as possible.

 

 


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Temptation in the Highlands (Preview)

Chapter I

Isle of Mull, Scotland, November 1717, Seat of Clan MacLean

Calum MacLean rode hard and fast, following the coastline of his beloved isle. He saw the beauty of the green hills and the gray of the rocks and the blue of the sea, but he didn’t really see. His teeth were set, and he breathed sharply and quickly as he rode. Riding was the only way he could escape the truth of what kept gnawing at his mind. He was losing his clan.

Everything he had dreamed and learned about since he was young would soon be gone. And it was all his fault. He could barely bring himself to look at the portraits of his ancestors that hung within his castle walls. Soon, if he did nothing to stop it, the Campbells would come for his land and his castle, either merging his clan with their own and making ties with the English, or pushing them off their land entirely, leaving them as homeless orphans, wandering the desert like Moses.

Calum’s horse, Fìor-Ghlainne, named for the supposed purity of his former wife, knew the land well, and she rode steadily, beating her hooves against the ground, hoping to bring her master some solace. Calum thought about his brother and second-in-command, Angus, and the words he’d just said that set Calum to riding.

“We need food, brother. We must hunt! Yer clansmen are starving around ye, and ye have nae eyes tae see it! Ye can only see yer own pain. We need tae work the land. We need tae establish trade. Brother, ye will lose yer people if ye dinnae stop it. The English are here! And they will spot yer weakness and exploit it. Whether ‘tis they’ or the Campbells, Clan MacLean will become nae more upon the Isle of Mull.”

Angus was younger than Calum by 5 years, but in many ways, he was so much wiser. He had been the smarter of the two of them in their studies with the tutors, but Calum had been the jollier one, the more sociable, until the event happened which broke Calum and made him the unpleasant man who was riding along the coastline today.

Once Angus had spoken the words, Calum had left, feeling the fury rise in his throat. How dare his brother, his own subject no less, speak to him in such a way? Surely, he, the laird, would know best what to do with his own clan. His father would never have tolerated such remonstrances from their uncle. Why must he?

But the more he rode, and the more he fell into a sullen reverie with each beat of the horse’s hooves, the more he realized his mistakes. Yes, he had made many and had let the clan, clan lands, and the castle fall into disrepair. As he stared across the isle as he rode, it was as if he was seeing it for the first time in a long time.

The ground was brittle and dry. Fishing boats were in need of new wood. Animals wandered without fences and were sickly. He knew they were often lost in high tide or from simply wandering too close to the Sound. And Duart Castle, which rose before him in the late morning light, still looked formidable, but also looked tired and weak.

He rode towards the old gray stone walls which looked solemnly out to sea as they had for hundreds of years, and he suddenly felt a pang of regret. He would have to do something to make up for his mistakes. And maybe apologize to his brother as well. Maybe.

***

Julia scrawled into an old leather notebook atop her uncle’s desk. “2,000 pounds, Uncle. Why that is double what you earned at the tables last week. You are improving, I see.” Her voice was flat and emotionless.

Julia’s Uncle Andrew grinned at her from the fireplace, sticking his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. He had grown rather fat in the past fourteen years, despite being a decorated General, and Julia did not like to look at him long. His powdered wig sat untidily upon his head, and he spoke with great obsequiousness and condescension, as he always did with her.

“Well done, Julia, my dear, my beauty. You are so talented with numbers; your mind has been blessed by Pythagoras himself.” He winked at her, and Julia looked away quickly, a sharp pang of nausea filling her stomach. He came up behind her at the desk, placing his hands behind on her chair. Julia pretended not to notice, continuing to scrawl away in the notebook, preparing columns for the next round of gaming her uncle was sure to engage in.

“My dear, you are growing prettier every day, you know, and it has not gone…unnoticed.” Julia wished she could disappear, but she continued to appear as calm as she could. It was true. However much she would have wished to stay a child, free from men’s clutches and desires, Julia had grown into a woman. And her uncle was reminding her of it nearly every day. He painted that compliment under a guise of wanting her to get married and find a wealthy husband, but if ever a man showed too much interest at balls and gatherings, her uncle would shoo them away, saying they were unsuitable. No one seemed to be good enough for his niece, who had become like a daughter to him.

And while the thought was so disgusting and so unusual, Julia could not shake the feeling that underneath everything, there lay a desire for her from her very own uncle, and she feared what might happen if she lived alone with him for too much longer under his roof. It seemed impossible, but every time he mentioned what he was about to say, the idea came ever closer to reality.

“Your bright blue eyes, my dear, and your smooth, pale complexion against your dark, ebony hair.” Julia could feel her uncle’s fingertips slowly caressing the top of her head. “They are enough to tempt any man.”

“And yet, no one has proved suitable to you, Uncle.” Julia pushed the chair back into him, and he made an ‘oomph’ sound, bending over slightly with a grimace of pain. But he soon regained his composure. Julia stood by the hearth, farther away from him and crossed her arms. While it was the fashion for young ladies to have low necklines and tightened waists, Julia felt uncomfortable under her uncle’s gaze, and so she would cross her arms in an attempt to cover what she could.

He chuckled. “Your usual stance, I see. And yes, no one has quite come up to scratch, I’m afraid, but it is not true any longer.”

Julia’s heart stopped, but she simply lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes, dear niece. I have found a friend who I believe will be quite suitable for you. He is a military man and one of my contemporaries. We will travel to Scotland tomorrow to meet him.”

Julia’s arms fell to her side, and her eyes opened in surprise and anguish. “What? You have found…” She couldn’t even bring herself to say the words.

Uncle Andrew took her surprise and speech as her enjoyment of the news. “Yes! You will be a wife at long last. Is that not what all women aspire to?”

Julia grimaced. Not quite, she thought. Especially not when marriage was what it was so often evidenced to be: a prison for the woman who must do exactly as her husband says and live a life of lonely desolation. “But, he is your contemporary? He will be too…old.”

Not often was Uncle Andrew angry, but when he was, Julia would recoil in fear at the intensity of it and how quick he could flit from cheeriness to anger. He stepped ever so slightly closer to her, but she stood steady, only moving her face slightly back from his.

“You would do well to remember, Julia, who it is who controls the wealth of this estate, who controls to whom it goes, and who has taken care of you all these years. It is not in your best interest to disrespect me or those whom I call friends. You will marry this man because I wish it. You will live a life of ease in Scotland, and I will reside there as well.”

Julia was confused. “You will be there?”

He returned to his earlier cheery mood, smiling back at her. “Why yes.” He reached his hand out and lightly touched the side of her face. Julia stood still, hardly daring to breathe. “I have been transferred for the time being to work along with General Wade’s plan to improve that brutish, wild land and bring it to English standards. I also thought that you might be lonely without family about, my dear. General Whiteman is a very old friend of mine, and he has welcomed me to stay with you both. I hope you do not mind?”

Julia knew best not to argue at this moment. But she had to think of something. “No, Uncle. ‘Twill be good to have family about me when I embark on this new adventure.” Uncle Andrew did not notice the lightness and artificial cheer that filled her voice.

“Excellent. Send your maid to begin packing. We will leave tomorrow morning.”

Chapter II

Angus MacLean sometimes wished he could punch his brother in the face as hard as he could. Of course, being brothers, such a thing was possible, but he didn’t think it would solve anything. Laird Calum MacLean was about as stubborn as stubborn can get, especially since his loss. He had always been so merry and joking, full of happiness from day to day, the very opposite of the quiet, reserved, stoic Angus; but now, he was a changed man. Now it was Angus who appeared to be the jolly one. Calum had been cold and hard the past four years. Nothing seemed to lure him away from his bitterness and sorrow.

However, Angus was hopeful this morning. So many things had come to a head that it was time he told Calum the truth of what was going on. He hoped it would wake him out of his stupor. He had given his brother enough time to grieve. They needed to start building up the clan again, to bring it back to its former glory. But over the past years, Calum had not moved. He had seen nothing wrong, and so had let the clan fall into weakness and uselessness.

But after Angus had spoken this morning, Calum had hurriedly left in anger to ride away on the coast. Angus waited in the main hall, pacing, hoping with each second that passed that Calum would return, the old vigor in his eyes. Even if he did not, Angus had arranged a group of men to meet with the MacLeans on the coast of the mainland to hunt and trade wares.

Even if Calum did not agree, he would take them across the Sound. The clan would not survive the winter if he did not do something. As he paced, Calum burst into the room and surprised him. It was not unusual for Calum to be bursting, but Angus had been on edge ever since he’d left.

“Brother! Ye have returned from yer ride. I hope it aided ye?” Angus asked hopefully, a little too cheerily for Calum, and so Calum’s eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. He called for wine.

“Aye, I’ve returned, but I cannae say I’m in a better mood than when I left. Brother.”

Angus’s heart fell. He supposed it was too late to ever hope for a change. He would just need to take matters into his own hands, or the Campbells would take over and bring shame to the MacLeans, being traitors and dogs who were in league with the English.

The wine came, and Calum sat gruffly down on one of the chairs against the stone wall. His voice softened. “But, I ken yer right, lad. Go. Send the hunters. The MacLeans on the mainland will help us and let us use their land.”

After saying that, Calum drank his wine in one gulp and then put his face in his hands. It was as if the effort of trying to make changes took everything out of him. An excited Angus moved closer to his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder. He whispered, “She is not worth this, lad. She is not worth a lifetime of sorrow.”

From beneath his hands, Calum said, “But how could ye know what she is worth? How could ye know what she has cost me?” His voice was raspy with emotion.

“Be the laird our father always knew ye would be. Dinnae let clan MacLean suffer because of what she has done.” With that, Angus left, knowing there was nothing more to say. His heart ached for his brother, it really did, but it was time for action. And Calum was still young, not being yet 30 years of age. He had his whole life ahead of him, and he was wasting it on that bitch. What Calum needed was a swift punch to the face and to find a good woman. Angus yearned for that for himself as well, but he would never have said so, and he had never found any woman to be enough for him. But for Calum, it was time he married again.

But now, to the hunters. They would be assembled quickly and sent across this very afternoon. And perhaps, clan MacLean would have a new chance at survival.

***

Julia’s lady’s maid had packed her case with care, providing everything her young mistress would be in want of. Books and notebooks, of course, filled a great portion of it. She would not need too many ball gowns in Scotland, but they were necessary all the same. Julia sat across from her Uncle Andrew in the carriage as they said goodbye to her family home in the fashionable area of London and headed towards Scotland.

She barely had time to write to her cousin, Charlotte Andrews, about her departure. She and Charlotte had hardly seen each other since her Uncle came into his wealth, yet she was still the closest friend Julia had. There was no one else she really knew, aside from mere acquaintances she met at social gatherings. And so, with tears in her eyes, Julia had written to Charlotte to let her know her fate. It had finally come.

She knew it would, but she had hoped she would be married to someone in her beloved London and not someone who was stationed off in the wilderness. She did not know much about Scotland, other than what she had read. The English seemed to disdain the people there, especially the Highlanders, who were reputed to be fierce, uncivilized, and uneducated.

She was not one to enjoy geography as much as science and mathematics, and so she was terribly unsure as to the exact location of Fort William on a map. And she was, of course, unsure as to whom her bridegroom would be. She’d heard of General Whiteman, for his fierce reputation preceded him, but she’d never seen him or heard him described. But her heart told her that he would look just as Uncle Andrew looked: balding with white wisps of remaining hair, fat, old, and ugly. And he would probably be just as…uncomfortable as Uncle Andrew was.

Ever since her father died, and her uncle began taking over her day to day life, Julia’s experience with men had been mainly limited to him and the servants. She spoke occasionally to men at balls until their liaisons were swiftly interrupted and broken. In her heart, besides her father, she thought all of them vile creatures. Men, especially wealthy, greedy men, were of the worst kind, and she had no false illusions as to the happiness of her future wedded life.

Julia lay back against the carriage seat as it bumped along, allowing her mind to help her accept what was about to happen. Uncle Andrew was asleep, and his mouth opened and gurgled with each breath he took. She made a face of disgust and wished she could tear open the carriage doors and push him out into the road to be feasted upon by the wild animals. Julia looked out at the countryside that surrounded them.

They had long left London behind, and what was around them now was rolling hills, dotted with sheep. The sky was a beautiful bright blue, and Julia thought she was looking upon a storybook page. She had never been outside of the great city, and so this seemed like another world. Her father had always meant to take her on his occasional travels, but after his death, she was stuck endlessly in the same place.

Julia pulled away from the window, feeling the sting of impending tears behind her eyes. Father’s death changed my life for the worse. It’s as if I’ve lived two lives. One of happiness before and one of sorrow and tragedy after. I can honestly say, I have not felt happy for one day in these fourteen years.

Then escape. Julia sat upright in surprise. A voice not her own felt like it had spoken to her mind. She looked around, feeling unnerved by such a phenomenon.

She attempted to speak back. Escape to where? We are nowhere.

The time and opportunity will come. Take it.

Julia gripped the edges of the carriage seat and bit her lip. She felt oddly comforted by the voice. But surely it was just her own voice speaking to her. They must be her own thoughts. The time and opportunity will come, she repeated to herself.

She looked across at Uncle Andrew and felt hatred in her heart grow so strong; she thought she would nearly burst. He had been no father to her, but merely a benefactor who was making her more uneasy with each passing day. How could this man have been her lovely father’s brother? Julia squinted her eyes at him. The area around his eyes reminded her slightly of her father, but that was it. That was where the resemblance ended. What would her father say if he knew what was happening now?

Julia wanted to scream. She repeated in her head, the time and opportunity will come. But would she know when it came? And would she take it?


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