Lost in the Highlands, Volume One

by Lorraine Beaumont

  “Take the basket of offerings, lass, to the top of the mountain, cross over the screaming bridge to the other side and the Highlander ye seek will come fer ye.”

  “Screaming bridge?”

  “Och lass, never ye mind. Jes do as I say and all will work out for ye.”

  Paige struggled to keep hold of the basket. What in the heck was in this thing, rocks?

  “Now get on with ye.”

  The woman shoved Paige’s bottom hard, propelling her forward.

  “Best of luck ta ye, lass,” she cackled, and then Paige could swear she heard her say, “Yer going ta need it.”

  One by one, Paige took the stairs up the steep face of the mountain with the basket of bounty firmly grasped in her hands. Breathing heavily, she finally made it to the top of the mountain. The heavy wool plaid skirt was weighing her down considerably as was the basket.

  Why on Earth she had to carry the basket up here was beyond her. But then again, that was the least weird thing she was doing. Climbing a mountain dressed in full Scottish clothing and carrying a basket so a Highlander would come for her out of the mist was pretty out there. But she was so drunk. Well, she was, and at the time, it seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do. Now however, as Paige looked around into nothing but sky, she wasn’t so sure.

  There was a bridge in front of Paige, spanning a chasm of eighty or so feet and it was screaming. At least that is what it sounded like as the swinging cabled bridge shuddered in the howling wind. Gripping the basket, she stepped tentatively on the moving monstrosity, second- guessing her decision the entire time.

  Taking a deep breath, Paige sprinted across it.

  Once she was safely on the other side, she set the basket down. The wind whipped against her as she walked over to the edge of the flat rock and glanced down.

  Approximately 300 feet below were the tops of several trees. There was nothing between her and the trees except for the rock under her feet that didn’t seem nearly as large as it had moments before and the sky above.

  Feeling woozy, she backed up quite a bit and sat down near one of the only trees remaining on top of this desolate mountain. It wasn’t much taller than her sitting down. The limbs were all twisted at awkward angles, like it was confused as to which way to grow.

  The temperature was much cooler up here. She pulled her plaid more firmly around her shoulders to buffer the frigid wind.

  Huddled closely to the tree, Paige tucked her feet under the hem of her gown, rested her elbow on her leg, and propped her chin up with her hand. Twilight was waning and the moon was drifting higher in the sky. She needed to rest a moment and then she would make the long trek back down the mountain before it got too dark.

  That was the plan, but the thin air from the altitude combined with her over indulgence of mead, not to mention her arduous climb up several hundred stairs, and the horror from crossing that damn bridge, made her drowsy. She decided a quick rest to revive herself wasn’t such a bad idea as she closed her eyes.

  ♦

  A shuddering underneath her bottom woke Paige. Disoriented, she looked around. A full moon bore down upon the mountaintop, illuminating the area in its ethereal glow as thousands of stars twinkled like diamonds just out of my reach. Again, she felt the shuddering that woke her. She stumbled upward to standing as the slight shuddering turned quickly to thundering. Gripping hold of the bedraggled tree, she held on for dear life as the entire mountain shook with such force she thought for sure the damn thing was collapsing underneath her.

  The thundering grew louder.

  White mist swirled out towards her from the screaming bridge.

  Not able to move, she watched.

  One by one, horses rolled out from the mist and surrounded her. By her count, there were thirteen horses, and as her gaze lifted higher, thirteen massive Highlanders came into focus mounted on top of each one.

  When the darkness came for her, Paige went willingly.

  DEAR READER…

  You are cordially invited to join me on an adventure through

  the pages of this book.

  cLICK OR TAP

  THE INVITATION TO READ THE RULES!

  CHAPTER ONE

  LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND

  Sometime during the reign of King James

  “Do ye ken if I killed it?” asked Callum, stroking his chin. He barely began growing hair on his face and tended to massage the area in hopes it would grow faster.

  “You mean the lass ye dumped in the bog?” asked Muir, who stood a full head taller than Callum and had no such desires to have a beard since it would cover his handsome visage, or so he said often.

  “I told ye it was an accident,” Callum grumbled. “And besides, how do you ken if it’s a lass?”

  Muir shrugged. “Aren’t they all?”

  Callum shook his head adamantly back and forth. “Nay, the last one was a man or was it the one before last?” He pondered that for a moment watching the person in the mud. “Look it’s moving.” He pointed. “It must be a lass, see, she has long hair.”

  Muir snorted. “Are ye sure about that, Callum? Yer hair is down yer back and I wouldn’t mistake ye for a lass, even if the night was pitched in Dragoon’s blood and yer kilt was up exposing only yer hairless buttocks.”

  “Ye keep talking like that Muir and I may think ye want ta see me hairless buttocks more often.” He lifted his aforementioned kilt and bared his backside.

  “Why ye….”

  ♦

  This exchange should have been the first clue I was somewhere I should not be. But as with most days, before I had my morning cup of lead my brain was not firing on all cylinders.

  ♦

  Gavin de Grey, the current laird of Greystone Castle, located on the northwest shore of Loch Morar, stepped forward. The wind whipped his dark brown hair away from his rugged profile. His blue-green gaze drifted to the bog of mud that surrounded the person his men were having a debate over. He wasn’t sure if it was a lass, either. They took people from the mist and sometimes, most times, it was a lass, but every once in a while they were stuck with a man. He wasn’t keen on the men. But some could cook and the others were good at mucking the stalls. Some however, ran off in the middle of the night and he had yet to find them, but then again, he wasn’t looking very hard either.

  Lifting his hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose, to ward off the pressure gathering between his brows.

  ♦

  “Do ye think she is daft?” Callum spoke from under the hand he was using to cover his mouth and nose from the smell.

  “Does she look daft to ye?” Muir said, doing the same.

  “She hasn’t tried ta move from the bog,” Callum noted. “Do ye ken if daft people like mud?”

  “Och, how am I supposed to know?” Muir took a step back when the wind shifted.

  “I can’t say I’ve met a lass that was daft before,” Callum mused.

  “What about the old toothless crone ye were begging to suck yer wee bit last night?” Muir laughed.

  “Och, ye promised ye wouldn’t say anything about that.” Callum launched himself at Muir and tackled him to the ground.

  ♦

  The sound of flesh hitting flesh resounded in the air. I guessed they were having a fistfight but I could not see past the shadow of men that still stood around me.

  Two other men stepped up to take their place and started a commentary of their own. They were hard to understand and spoke in a mishmash of modern day language, along with the unmistakable brogue of a Scotsman and something else that I couldn’t figure out. I could only get bits and pieces of the conversation.

  ♦

  “Och, it stinks.” Alec pinched his nose.

  “Aye, it does,” Graham, agreed taking a step back. His dark blonde hair stood on end. He grabbed hold of the length and tethered it with a piece of leather.

  “We should toss her in the Loch and see if she comes clean,” Alec suggested. He was only three and twenty but he was al
ready six feet tall.

  “How ye going to get her there?” asked Muir, coming back from his fistfight with Callum, straightening his kilt.

  “Ye can carry her,” Graham said, as he adjusted the hilt of his sword. “I won’t be the one lifting her up smelling the way she does.”

  Muir looked indignant at such an idea. “Why can’t ye two do it?”

  “We are older,” Alec said, as though this explained everything but then added, “Ye are the one that dropped the lass in the bog of mud.”

  “I did no such a thing. That was Callum’s doing, no mine,” Muir defended.

  “Makes no never mind ta me. Ye are still helping.”

  “What was my doing?” asked Callum, stepping into the circle once more.

  “Ye will take the lass to the Loch with Muir’s help and see if she comes clean,” Alec said.

  “Och, why do I have ta do it?”

  “Ye are the one that dropped her in the mud, that’s why,” Muir snapped.

  “I did no drop her. Ye did.”

  “Cease all of ye,” Gavin said, his voice deep with a heavy brogue combined with a hint of an English accent. “Pick her up and dump her in the Loch. If she comes clean and is toothsome, we will keep her. If not, leave her there.”

  “It is cold,” Callum argued. “She may catch her death.”

  “What do I care? I have no use for another ugly crone slowing us down. Now get on with it.”

  Gavin stepped forward and leaned down to look at the person in the mud.

  ♦

  Blinking, she stared up into the loveliest pair of eyes for a man that she had ever seen. They were a cross between green and blue. And even though the color was strange, yet beautiful, she had the distinct feeling she had seen that very same color somewhere before, but she couldn’t remember where. They mesmerized her—or rather, they did, until he frowned in displeasure before covering his face.

  Out of sheer determination, she tried to sit up but only managed to move a little before her body was sucked back into her prison of filth.

  ♦

  “Ye take her arms; I’ll grab her feet.” Callum walked over to the edge of the pit.

  Hands grabbed at her body none too carefully and yanked Paige from the vat of filth that had her trapped.

  Moving quickly, the two men held her arms and legs while running up a rocky incline, picking up speed as they descended the other side. Paige felt like she was going to be ripped in two.

  “On the count of three…” one of them yelled over the howling wind.

  “Three.”

  Her body swung outward and released.

  She was airborne for a split second and then submerged completely into frigid water.

  The skirts she wore weighed her down. Paige kicked her feet, struggling to rise back to the surface. With a final kick, she broke out from the barrier of water. A heavy fog was on the top. Gasping for air, she swam back toward the shore out of sheer determination.

  Dripping wet and shivering, she found purchase on the rocks below and climbed from the water.

  The two men/boys that had thrown her into the water stood there with widened eyes.

  “Bastards!” she sputtered, swiping her wet hair from her face.

  “What did she say?” Callum asked.

  “I believe she called ye a bastard,” Muir responded.

  “How do ye know she was speaking ta me and not ye?”

  “Ye are a bastard,” Muir reminded him and crossed his arms. “I am not.”

  “Ye will be when I get through with ye,” Callum warned, balling his fists.

  “Not likely.”

  “What is the matter with you?” Paige chattered, so mad she was seeing red.

  “Aye, she is a feisty one, full of spit and vinegar,” Muir stated.

  “We did just throw her in the Loch. It would seem she may have good reason for calling us such,” Callum noted.

  “Aye, I can see why she may be mad. Think ye she is toothsome enough for the Laird?” asked the one with the long hair. He had the pretty face of a boy not fully matured.

  “Aye,” said the taller of the two, his face was older but just as handsome. His eyes slowly raked over the gown that clung to her body like saran wrap.

  “The lass, looks mighty fine ta me.” Callum let out a low appreciative whistle.

  “Good birthing hips on that one.” Muir nodded his agreement.

  Both men examined her as Paige stood shivering by the shore, having a heated conversation that she understood very little.

  A large white bird flew overhead, squawking loudly, then dove into the water and came back out with a fish writhing in its long beak. Their attention momentarily diverted on the bird, she grabbed up her sopping wet skirts and tried to run. Unfortunately, she was so cold she could barely get her legs to work.

  “Where do ye think she is going?” asked Callum, watching her departing form as she tried to run over the rock-laden embankment.

  “I don’t know but ye better get her before she falls and hurts herself on the rocks,” Muir suggested.

  “Would our laird want her looking the way that she does?” Callum asked, reassessing her as she ran forward. Her calves were shapely but a little smaller than he would have imagined due to the size of her bosom.

  “Aye, I believe he would.” Muir watched the aforementioned bosom bouncing up and down as she ran. “Well, what are ye waiting for? Go and get her.”

  “I am not doing it myself,” Callum argued. “She is mad.”

  Stopping, Paige gave up trying to run away, turned back around, and stomped back to the men who were more boys. She had no idea where she was, so running away was not going to help her in the least. “You heathens give me something to wear.” She shivered uncontrollably.

  The sound of her voice brought their eyes back to Paige as they stood there looking confused.

  “What is she saying?” Callum asked out of the side of his mouth.

  “I don’t know,” Muir said.

  Rubbing her arms, Paige stood there shivering waiting for them to do something. When neither came to her aide, she walked up to the smallest one. “I am borrowing this.” She tugged the plaid.

  “I think she wants yer extra plaid, Callum,” Muir said.

  “Aye, I think she does.” Callum released his extra plaid to the girl and then stood back.

  Wrapping the plaid around her body, Paige tried to get warm but it did little since her clothing was so wet.

  “Take yer clothes off, lass,” Muir said.

  Somehow, she understood that. “I will do no such thing.”

  “That is the only way ye will get warm, lass.” He shrugged his broad shoulders.

  With the numbness settling in her limbs, her legs gave out. Her head hit the rocks before her body and Paige promptly blacked out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND

  Sometime during the reign of King James

  “Do ye see a basket?” Alec tucked his reddish-brown hair behind his ears as he bent over to look behind a scraggly bush. A long twisting ringlet fell forward over his broad shoulder, which looked out of place on a man his size.

  “No,” Graham said, looking just as hard. He wandered over to a large boulder, and glanced behind it.

  “Mayhap she misplaced it,” Alec offered.

  “Och, where though?” asked Graham.

  “How do I know,” Alec said as he straightened once more. “I wonder if she is going to be comely.”

  Graham made a snorting noise. “She better hope so. Laird Grey said if Morag sends us another one of those ugly ones, we will tether her near the loch and use her as an offering for the monster.”

  Alec shook his head morosely. “Aye, let’s hope she is toothsome.”

  Callum and Muir struggled up the hill with their burden in tow.

  Gavin stepped forward and pushed his hair back as it pitched forward in the bristling wind. “What happened to her?”

  “She fell on the r
ocks and hit her head,” Callum and Muir both blurted at the same time.

  “How did she manage that?” Gavin gave his men a cold stare.

  Both young men shrugged and shook their heads, looking at each other. “Tis slippery by the loch,” they explained.

  Gavin rolled his eyes. “Tis growing late,” he said. “Toss her on a horse and let’s make our way back ta the keep before the storm is upon us.”

  “It was sunny a few moments ago,” Callum noted. “Think ye this is an omen of what is ta come?”

  Gavin tensed. He was tired of all this superstitious talk. Even though he was partially to blame for it—he had to keep his men in line one way or another. “Only if ye do not get her on that horse and get moving.”

  “What does that have ta do with an omen?” Muir asked looking bewildered.

  “Ye will get wet and so will she.” Gavin swung on his horse.

  “Do ye want to carry her with ye?” Callum lifted her limp arm in the air.

  Gavin looked at the dripping wet girl and pulled his own plaid closer to his shoulders against the frigid wind. “No.”

  “Think ye she is comely enough?” Muir asked, hopefully.

  “Aye, she looks better now.” He nodded his head. “I had my doubts it was even a lass.” Thunder boomed in the distance. “She will do…. for now,” he added as an afterthought and reined his horse around, heading back for home.

  ♦

  They didn’t beat the storm.

  Every man was drenched by the time they made it back. One by one, the thirteen men filed inside the keep, dripping a goodly amount of water on the filthy rushes.