by Fiona Faris
Meeting his eyes, she nodded her head, smiling radiantly. The sight took Malcolm’s breath away. Her tears turned from those of sorrow to those of joy as she laid her hand tenderly upon his cheek. “Aye,” she answered, promising him forever.
Extended Epilogue
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Afterword
Thank you for reading my novel, Stealing the Highlander’s Heart. I really hope you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to write a review HERE?
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Do you want more Romance?
Turn on the next page to read the first chapters of my previous best-seller, which is the prequel to this story…
It’s about how Andrew and Freya met, and it’s called Abduction of a Highland Rose
Our story starts with maidens mysteriously disappearing from the Kellie Castle…
* * *
Abduction of a Highland Rose
Chapter One
September, 1648, Kellie Castle, Pittenweem, Scotland
A brisk autumn morning highlighted by a pale blue sky encompassed the Erskine clan as an ominous silence from the pasture frightened the elders. A bone-chilling wind propelled the red and yellow leaves onto Freya’s soft cheek, as the first shimmer of sunrise rose above the valley, with the Highland mountains perched over the shadow of Kellie Castle.
Freya lifted her nose to a scent on the air, like spilled milk, and peered into the fair maidens’ chore station. Cracked eggs lay on the strewn hay, and the moment of solitude unnerved her.
“Freya!” came a voice with a deafening pitch.
The birds which surrounded the pasture burst out of the prickled brush, blinding Freya temporarily. She dashed into the corner with her back perched against the wooden door as her spine bristled. It was only when her best friend, Sorcha, crawled underneath the battered door that Freya let out an almighty sigh of relief.
“Freya, help! The men – they – they tried tae hog-tie me an’ drag me awa’. I’m the only one who escaped,” Sorcha shouted, her garments covered in dirt and grass stains.
Freya was confused. “Whit dae ye mean ye are the only one? How many maidens hae vanished?” She wrapped her arms around Sorcha’s slender frame.
“Fer o’ us were taken.” Sorcha gasped as she collapsed into a pile of mud. “I can still smell their foul stench on every inch o’ my body. Those heathens!”
Tears streamed down Sorcha’s face as she went on to tell Freya everything. The material covering her thighs was tattered, both elbows were scuffed, and dark bruises were already blooming on her back.
“We need tae get tae the castle,” Freya stated, and when Sorcha gave a cursory nod, Freya helped the young woman to her feet.
They crossed the valley as quickly as possible, with Freya carrying much of her friend’s weight. Sorcha was too exhausted to walk freely. After a little while, Freya had no choice but to hoist Sorcha up onto her back and lug her the rest of the way to their clan’s castle.
Blood streamed down Sorcha’s limp hand and onto Freya’s arisaid, which again forced the women to halt. Freya lowered Sorcha to the sod and ripped a piece of cloth from her arisaid at her mid-thigh to dress the wound.
“Hurry, Freya! Afore they come back. Please hurry!”
“Hush. I’m goin’ as fast as I can.”
A cold sweat crept over Freya’s brow, and she flinched when an insect landed on her shoulder.
“Who goes there?” she shouted at the air around her.
No answer.
“Stay back. If ye come ony closer, I will bash ye brains in with this stone,” she added, goose bumps peppering her arms and legs that were now doused with muck and Sorcha’s blood.
Again, no answer.
No one was in sight, only remnants of the Erskine clan’s animals from when the daily milk and eggs were collected by the youngest of the fair maidens.
“There’s nothin’ there, Sorcha. It’s a’ in oor heids. Now, come on. The castle is jist above this final plateau.”
Sorcha’s eyes went from side to side, peering in all directions as she dangled atop Freya’s shoulders, which throbbed like jagged rocks pressing into her blades.
Suddenly, Sorcha unleashed a violent shriek, which likely awoke the neighboring clans in the lowlands.
“That’s them! They hae come back fer us. They are goin’ tae rape an’ kill us,” Sorcha screamed.
A soft rain started to drizzle. Freya perched Sorcha onto the stone wall along the beaten path which pointed directly to the castle. Freya gripped her friend’s wrists and pressed her against the serrated stones.
“Listen tae me! There is nae one oot there down the valley oor behind this ‘ere stoned fence. Yer mind is playin’ games with ye. Now, hush,” she said.
Sorcha bit her lip, then collapsed against Freya’s chest, clinging to her for consolation.
“I cannae carry yer arse anither step. I dae no’ hae the strength o’ an ox,” Freya added with an amused grumble.
Sorcha nodded and sat back up straight. She then appeared to snap out of her melancholia.
“Very well then. I think I can manage the hill from ‘ere. Thank ye, dear Freya.”
The pair trekked along the muddy trail as the hill steepened. They gasped for breath, and their limbs ached as they sank deeper into the sludge on every step. With the summit of the hill now beneath their feet, Kellie Castle lay straight ahead.
“Thank heavens we finally made it home in one piece. An’ the rain has stopped. Let’s get a move on – I need tae take ye tae the caretaker sae she can mend a’ these wounds on yer arms an’ legs,” Freya told Sorcha.
Kellie Castle stood at the bottom of the hill. The normally vivid emerald leaves on the trees surrounding the entrance were now an assortment of red, yellow, and orange. A winding river flowed around the side opposite of the grassy hill. The river curved to the rear of the gray-bricked abode which housed the most prominent of the Erskine clan. The river crisscrossed its signature into the valley and became lost into the rolling mountains of the Highlands.
No one in the Erskine clan had any clue how far the river stretched as it eclipsed their territory. Their border halted before the valley pressed into the base of the nearest foothill. It was a breathtaking sight, as the sun glistened along the river and highlighted the endless shades of grass which rolled along the hills.
The base of the castle was layered into three distinct sections at the front where the clan members had their quarters. A window was cut open from the brick in each room so the night breeze could maintain circulation throughout the structure. In the center section laid a fireplace to spread warmth during the chilly fall and blistering winter nights.
Battlements surrounded the rear of the castle around the courtyard where the warriors practiced their hand-to-hand combat. Stone-crafted staircases in each section of the base of the castle led outside to the center courtyard. The archers rotated shifts to man the battlement station and to stand guard in case of an enemy’s approach from the rear. Two other guards switched out day and night to patrol the base of the castle adjacent to the gated entrance.
One of these guards alerted the clan to a signal of distress, as he witnessed the lumbering ladies approaching.
Freya and Sorcha shivered as the blustery wind picked up once again. The guard rolled down the gates, and each time the gate lowered, it clanked as if struck by a Highlander’s broadsword.
Freya half dragged Sorcha to the caretaker’s quarters and pounded on the door with one fist.
“My friend is wounded. Please, open up,” Freya shouted.
Fin
ally, after a few moments, the door swung ajar, accompanied by a low-pitched grumble.
“Who said ye could come bargin’ round ‘ere like this, missy? I hae the right mind tae slap the daylights oot o’ ye. Now, whit’s the matter?” the female caretaker asked.
“My friend is hurt, an’ she might hae been raped. She needs ye tae dress her wounds. Jist look at her, will ye?” Freya replied, her tone sharp.
The elderly, gray-haired woman gasped at the bloody mess that was Sorcha.
“My word! Who could dae sich a thing tae a beautiful flower? Come, I will get those gashes stitched up right awa’.” She gestured for them to swiftly follow her inside.
The caretaker directed Sorcha down onto a stone bed covered with sheepskin. She then sprinted down a dark corridor, into the neighboring section of the castle, to fetch the supplies she saved for such emergencies.
A little while later, Freya finally saw her friend at ease. She reached out and grasped Sorcha’s hand which was marred with grazes, evidence of her fight to escape the clutches of the animals who tried to abduct her.
“My dear Sorcha, ye hae tae tell me whit happened tae ye oot there.”
Sorcha’s eyes remained shut as she rested.
At that moment, Freya recollected that her friend was not the only girl who had been attacked that morning. Other maidens had been with her and thus presumably vanished without a trace from the borders of the Erskine clan.
Thoughts raced through Freya’s mind. Who attacked them an’ why? All of the girls happened to be the youngest of the working females in their clan. Freya herself was twenty-four years old, and Sorcha, along with the girls who were apparently taken captive, was a few years younger. Their primary responsibility in the clan was to collect food for the morning meal. Since Freya was slightly more mature, her job required her to remain within the castle.
I must warn the rest o’ the clan aboot this. We might a’ be in terrible danger, Freya thought.
Freya parlayed her message around to the Erskine clan members within the castle, and it started a ruckus amongst the elders. She ran down the stone staircases into the courtyard and proceeded to the villagers who lived beside the castle. Freya herself lived amongst them as she was raised there by her parents. The archers who stood guard in the battlements looked on in confusion as she galloped down the valley with her garments still tattered and covered in mud.
She bombarded into every home which occupied the village, and several of them were not too pleased when she barged in unannounced.
“Protect yerselves. Someone might be comin’ fer us. Mithers an’ faithers, ye need tae protect yer daughters,” she echoed to them all.
Naturally, the villagers were swept into a panic, and their shrieks carried down the valley. The men gathered their weapons stocked inside their homes and displayed much hubris in their ability to ward off any would-be attackers.
Freya scowled at their arrogance for not realizing the seriousness of the matter.
“Dae ye no’ get it? Four girls within oor clan hae disappeared withoot a trace, an’ we hae nae clues tae who is responsible. Nae one is safe ‘ere, sae ye need tae wipe those grins off yer faces afore someone wipes them off fer ye,” she told a few of the men with a scowl.
Now that everyone was aware of the incident, the questions came. How would the Erskine clan identify who was behind the dastardly deed? How would they get the young girls back? Were they even still alive?
A tear slithered down Freya’s pale face at the thought of her best friend being killed, raped, or held captive for who knows what reason. The thought of it all made her want to disinfect her body with blisteringly hot water.
She settled for the river which was at its calmest point when it cut through the middle of the village. Freya ditched her soiled arisaid, and despite the frigid cold air, she jumped into the river to cleanse her grimy body. The bathing was brief, and soon she hopped out, only having been submerged enough time to allow the hardened mud and blood to soften and scrape off her body.
She glanced around and saw the trees’ limbs trembling. The clamor of the villagers had faded; the only sound now was the gentle flow of the water down the valley into the rocky cliff a bird’s eye view away.
Her teeth chattered, as her soaked, light-blonde hair sat halfway down her back. Freya’s hourglass figure was the envy of many girls in the clan, younger and older. She might have still been young, but she had the physical features of a woman beyond her years. She was the prized beauty of the clan, who the chief envisioned only the finest warrior marrying someday.
Freya put on only her undergarment and gathered herself for the hike back up the hill to check on Sorcha at the castle.
When Freya arrived at the caretaker’s quarters again, she grabbed an unused cloak from a hook by the door and slung it over her person. She then walked on to find Sorcha in a meeting with the chief and his best warriors.
“Whit is this? Sorcha, ye need rest,” she said, her tone firm.
“It was imperative that I tell the chief whit occurred tae the best o’ my memory,” Sorcha replied.
“An’ whit was the outcome?”
The chief interrupted the ladies’ conversation.
“Efter hearin’ whit this young lass has said, an’ the latest report o’ my informant from oor neighborin’ clan, I fear the worst is yet tae come. We may be in the midst o’ a total invasion from anither clan,” the chief said.
“Well, which clan is it, an’ dae ye knaw when they might attack again?”
“Nae, but we are workin’ on it.”
“Fer girls were taken! Gone! This is oor lives we are talkin’ aboot. The villagers are scared tae death, an’ everyone is on edge.”
“Rest assured. We will stop this horde afore they ransack oor land again. Ye hae my word, my fair beauty.”
Freya stared at him with skepticism but knew better than to question her chief. She returned her attention to Sorcha, who would stay the night within the castle to be monitored by the caretaker.
“Sleep well, Sorcha. Ye need tae regain yer strength efter whit ye went through. I’m jist sae glad ye’re safe,” Freya said and lightly kissed her friend’s bruised cheek.
“Dae ye want an escort tae the village, Freya? Cannae be tae careful given whit’s happened,” one of the guards asked, as she prepared to head back home to the village.
“Ay, thank ye,” she replied, with a small smile.
The moon was full, and the only lights in the valley were the moon, stars, and the small candle in Freya’s hand. Even with the guard accompanying her, the darkness was still somewhat foreboding given all that had happened.
When they reached the bottom of the hill, she stumbled on a log from a dead tree. She shouted out a curse, her voice echoing down the valley. It was a miracle the candle hadn’t gone out in the fall.
“Ye a’ right, lass?” the guard asked, helping her up.
“Aye. I’ll live,” she joked.
They resumed their shuffling in the darkness, and then her candle snuffed out. The eerie pitch of night animals seemed to get louder in Freya’s ears. She muttered another curse, determined not to be frightened by her mind that was merely playing tricks on her.
Then, a noise came from the grass just ahead, and both she and the guard halted mid-step.
“Who goes there?” the guard called out, his hand on his sword belt, ready to draw if needed.
When the noise did not repeat itself, Freya breathed a sigh of relief and turned her attention back to the path towards her home.
Not two steps later, Freya felt a hand close over her mouth. A scuffle broke out near her. Swords were drawn and clinked. The guard cried out, and something went thump on the ground.
Freya knew he was no longer for this world.
She tried to scream, but the hand pushing against her lips was replaced with a gag. Her grunts and moans were useless. A strong grip pushed her arms and feet together, and in only seconds, all four limbs were tied. Her vision went da
rk as a blindfold was bound around her head. Two sets of sweaty hands then swept her off her feet and began to carry her away from her village.
Freya despaired, salt burning the backs of her eyes as the tears welled. She knew what was happening, and she was powerless to stop it.
Chapter Two
