Historical Hearts Romance Collection

by Sophia Wilson

  In the stables, all was quiet. She could hear the soft nickering of horses. She crept to the corral of the one she had chosen.

  She mounted, flying through the castle gates.

  The wind was cold on her face as she sped through the dark. She was free.

  Her eyes filled with tears, falling down her face with abandon. They flew like drops of rain on the wind, leaving trails of sadness behind her.

  Oh, Dougal. My love. What have I done?

  ***

  The castle was in uproar. No one could find her.

  Dougal strode through the castle, anger boiling in his blood. The two guards posted on watch had been found slumped against the castle walls, snoring. He had ordered that they be thrown into the horses’ trough.

  “Send out a party of men! Make haste!” he had ordered to the assembled. They looked stunned. “I want most to head north; that’s the way she should be going. The rest ask around. Someone must have seen her!”

  Next, he gathered her servants.

  “Did anyone here know of her plans?” he demanded, clenching his fists. “Talk, you fools!”

  The servants shook their heads, fear in their eyes.

  Grizel spoke up. “We know nothing, my laird. She seemed a bit distracted, but we put that down to the wedding…”

  “How can this have happened?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Incompetent! The lot of you!”

  Maybe there was a clue, something she had left behind in the chamber.

  He walked in, searching. The gown she had been wearing lay crumpled on the bed. She had changed, then. But he could find nothing else.

  He sank into a seat. He watched her wedding dress, moving in the breeze.

  And that’s when it hit him like a fist to the chest.

  She was gone. She had fled, deserting him. He let out a howl of pain.

  Grabbing the dress, he ripped it so hard it came clean away in his hands.

  White silk lay at his feet. He stared down at it - it looked like a murdered swan.

  Murdered, like his love for her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Father Duffy had just finished delivering mass in the Caithness Castle chapel.

  The congregation moved outside, subdued. It had been like this ever since the Maid had been abducted. It was like they had given up hope for the future of the clan Gunn.

  But Father Duffy hadn’t. He knew Heather, had schooled her since she was young. She was a conscientious and pious girl. She understood her duty to her clan. He had no doubt that she would return to them – somehow.

  They had talked about staging an ambush to get her back, just like the Clan Kerr had done to kidnap her in the first place.

  But it was not an easy process to organize – clan Kerr had killed most of the fighting men on that fateful night, sparing the farmers, women and children. It meant that they had survived, but they were sorely lacking in skilled warriors who could stage an assault.

  Still, they planned. They were patient, and resourceful. They also had long memories.

  Father Duffy stood at the chapel entrance, speaking to all who exited. A kind word, a gesture. Often all they wanted was a blessing. It was important to try to keep their spirits up.

  Suddenly, there was a commotion in the courtyard. He craned his neck to see what was happening.

  “It’s her! The Maid! She has returned to us!”

  Could it be true? Father Duffy picked up the skirt of his long black robe and ran.

  A crowd had gathered, forming a circle.

  “Make way! Make way!” The priest elbowed his way through the crowd.

  At last, he was there.

  At first glance, he was confused. Why had they thought the Maid had returned?

  Two women stood in front of him. They were dressed like gypsies, in long fringed gowns, with headscarfs and coin headpieces.

  One of them turned towards him, taking off her scarf, revealing her bright golden hair.

  “Well, Father Duffy. Don’t you recognize me?”

  It really was her! Her hair, her face…his eyes traveled downwards. He gasped.

  The Maid was a maiden no more.

  Jutting out, proudly, was a large belly.

  She was with child.

  ***

  He dispersed the crowd, leading her and her strange companion into the great hall.

  “My dear! I cannot believe it!” Father Duffy kept looking at her. He couldn’t have been more surprised if the Virgin Mary herself, about to give birth and seeking shelter for the night, had just arrived.

  Heather sat down slowly, lowering herself gingerly into the seat.

  “Thank you. It has been a tiresome journey; he kicks so much.” She ran her hands lovingly over her large belly.

  She turned to her companion. “Oshina, please sit. You are very welcome here.”

  The woman named Oshina looked hesitant, and then sat. “I will stay long enough to refresh myself,” she said. She spoke with a foreign accent.

  Father Duffy looked coldly at her. “And who might you be, Madam?” He didn’t like the look of her, at all. A gypsy; come from a foreign land, with sorcery in her blood.

  “Father Duffy, please be courteous to my friend,” Heather rebuked. “This is Oshina – she is part of a traveling fair. She has aided my journey home. Without her, I would probably be dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  Father Duffy colored. “Well, I suppose if she has aided you,” he said doubtfully.

  Oshina’s eyes flashed. “Don’t worry, priest, I won’t stay long. I know how much my kind upsets you.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Heather said. “You can stay as long as you please. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  Oshina smiled, faintly. “It was both our destiny,” she replied. “It was written in the stars.”

  Father Duffy bristled. “It is Our Lord and Savior who writes the story of our lives.”

  Heather held up a weary hand. “I cannot listen to this now,” she said. “I am tired, and parched. Will you send for food and drink for us both?”

  Father Duffy was flustered. “Of course,” he said, beckoning to the servants. The Maid had grown assertive. Where was the biddable girl that he had always known?

  He sat down next to her, trying to ignore the gypsy. “I have been remiss,” he said. “I am just so amazed at seeing you! You must tell me what happened. How you returned to us.”

  Heather smiled, but her face was tired. “As soon as refreshments come, I will tell you all.”

  ***

  Father Duffy listened in amazement as the story unfolded.

  Heather, her swollen feet elevated on a stool, and replenished with food and drink, slowly told her tale. She outlined what had happened to her after the clan Kerr had abducted her, leading up to the night before her wedding. Then her voice grew slower.

  “I had no plan in my head,” she said, wearily. “I just rode into the darkness. But it was hard – I did not know the terrain, or even which direction to head. I knew that they would soon discover that I had fled, so I just tried to ride as fast as I could.

  But I could hear riders behind me. I veered off into a valley, thinking that I would hide from them. It was then that I saw the tents in the distance, not very far away. I recognized them as belonging to the traveling fair. I approached, thinking that perhaps they might shelter me, just until the riders had passed.” She paused, and then glanced warmly at the woman sitting next to her.

  “Oshina saw me. She said she had been expecting me. She took me into her tent, telling someone to hide my horse. I stayed with them for four months, dressing as they did, so as not to arouse suspicion. They sheltered me. I traveled with them all over Scotland. I could have left to continue my journey on my own, but I knew that I would not get far alone. And it would have been very hard, with my belly growing so.” She looked down at her stomach, petting it.

  “Eventually, we reached Caithness. And not before time – I fear that the lad will arrive ve
ry soon.”

  Father Duffy raised an eyebrow. “The lad?”

  Heather smiled. “My son,” she said, gesturing to her belly.

  Father Duffy looked puzzled. “It is good that you think you are having a boy,” he said.

  “She is having a boy,” Oshina said.

  Father Duffy crossed himself. “Our Lord will decide on that,” he said.

  At that moment, Brodie, her guardian, strode into the hall.

  “Is it true? Heather, I cannot believe it!” He stopped, staring hard at her. “You are with child?”

  Heather stood. “It is true,” she said.

  “Are you legally married to him?” Brodie couldn’t say the name of the laird who had arranged her abduction.

  “No,” Heather said simply. “I escaped before the wedding could take place.”

  “Excellent!” Brodie looked satisfied. “He has no claims on the child, then. With luck, you may have a boy, and our problems will be solved!”

  He started pacing the room, calculating. “We may even be able to re-start the marriage negotiations. Malcolm of Glenorchy might accept the child – it shows that you can breed, provide him sons of his own in the future.”

  “Stop!” Heather raised her voice. “I will hear no such talk. I will have my son, and I will stay here with him. I will not marry. Do not speak of it again!”

  Brodie blanched. “But, Madam – “

  Heather raised her hand to halt him. “Understand this. I will not enter any marriage negotiations, now or in the future. Not with Malcolm of Glenorchy. Not with anyone.”

  Father Duffy interjected. “Madam, you are tired, you will feel differently after…”

  Heather turned on him. “Father Duffy, you raised me to be compliant, to do my duty.” She gazed down at her belly. “And I have done it. I will bear a son who will become laird. But I will not be used by any of you as a pawn in your power games anymore. You cannot demand it, after what I have been through.”

  She turned. “And now, I will retire to my chamber. I am bone tired.”

  She looked at Oshina. “Thank you, my dear friend,” she said softly. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  Oshina held her hand. “It was meant to be,” she said. “I know what it is like, to be a woman alone, without friends or family, far away from your home.” She tightened her grip. “Devlesa araklam tume. It is with God that we found you.”

  Father Duffy colored. “You should not speak of God,” he hissed.

  Heather turned on him. “You do not know all the ways of God,” she said. Then she left the room.

  Alone, in her chamber, she lay on her bed, stroking her belly. Not long now.

  The tears came heavily, making her chest heave.

  Oh, Dougal, my love, my love.

  ***

  Three weeks later, her son was born.

  As she held the newborn in her arms, she could hear the sounds of rejoicing all around her. The castle was jubilant. A laird, at last.

  She gazed down at the little lad squirming in her arms.

  “You have the look of your father,” she whispered, kissing him softly. “I name you Alban, the white.”

  How happy she was, to finally be delivered.

  How sad she was, that her son’s father couldn’t be here, to share this moment.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Caithness Castle - Eighteen Years Later

  “Where is my son?” Heather walked into the kitchens, glancing around as she did so. “Is he here, fossicking for food?”

  The cook, Jean, laughed and shook her head. “You might think so, Madam, for that son of yours has a fearsome appetite,” she answered. “But no, I do believe he is riding the lands, speaking with the tenants. He said that he must be familiar with them, if he is to be a proper laird.”

  Heather nodded approvingly. “He is keen,” she said. “Only officially the laird for a week, and he is already responsible.” She stopped. “Well, let me know when he returns. I will be in my chamber.”

  The cook nodded. “Will you not join the embroidery circle?”

  Heather smiled sadly. “I think not. My embroidery has never been good.”

  She left. The cook watched her leave, and then shook her head. The lady hardly ever left her chambers; she would tend to Alban, then retreat, to spend most of her time alone. It had ever been thus, since she had returned to them, so long ago. Her maids said that she sat in her window seat, staring out, for hours at a time.

  Heather climbed the stairs to her chamber, thinking. She knew that the whole castle worried about her, and tried to get her out and doing things. But she had no heart for it.

  Opening the door, she walked to her window seat. She sat down, in her familiar position. From here, you could see far over the plains, into the world beyond Caithness.

  Sometimes, her mind played tricks on her.

  She would see him.

  Dougal. Flying on his horse, straight through the gates, to claim her again.

  But it was never him. She watched and watched, but he never came.

  She shook her head. So many years, just sitting here, waiting.

  She had never stopped loving him.

  Sometimes she woke in the night, thinking that he was beside her. She could almost feel his breath against her neck, and his hands on her body, twisting her into him. She would weep, when she realized that it wasn’t true. That he existed out there, but not beside her.

  She had thought that time would ease her heart, but it never did.

  It didn’t help that Alban, her beloved son, was almost identical to his father, with the same fine black hair and dark eyes. Every time she looked at him, it was like she was being tormented anew.

  She had done her duty, provided a laird for her clan. But at what cost?

  He had probably forgotten her, anyway. He was probably married, with a fine set of sons. The thought twisted her heart.

  She gazed over the plains, sighing.

  ***

  “Cook has outdone herself tonight.” Alban tore into a chicken leg, ravenously.

  Heather smiled at her son.

  He had filled out in the last couple of years. She could scarcely believe that this tall man sitting next to her was the same little lad who had toddled around, clinging to her skirts. Where had the years gone?

  “You think everything Cook makes is wonderful,” Heather laughed. “You have the largest appetite I have ever known!”

  Alban grinned. “Well, one of us has to eat all the food she prepares,” he said. “You eat like a bird.”

  Heather sighed, twirling the food around on her plate. “I don’t need much,” she said.

  Alban looked at his mother.

  He could remember when he was little, he would gaze adoringly at her, dazzled by her long golden hair and huge amber eyes. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  As he had grown, he realized that he wasn’t the only one who thought so. His mother was famous for her beauty. She had been known as the Jewel of the Highlands. Men were forever asking for her hand in marriage. But she refused them all. When he had asked her why, when he was around fourteen, she had laughed and said that he was the only man she needed in her life.

  She was still beautiful. There wasn’t a single grey thread in that glorious golden mane, and her face was remarkably unlined for a woman of her years. He had seen women of six-and-thirty withered and grey.

  But her amber eyes had grown sadder as the years progressed. And she was thinner; he could see her shoulder blades protruding slightly. He knew why she seemed sad. It had something to do with his father, who he had never met.

  He had tried to talk of him, but his mother would only smile sadly, and remark how much he resembled him. He had heard the stories, of course; everyone had told him how his father had abducted her, trying to force her to marry him. But she had escaped, and given birth to him here, at Caithness Castle. She had given them the laird that they needed.

 
He was proud to be laird. He wanted to be a good one, show his mother that her escape had been worth it.

  “The new priest arrives next week,” he said to her now, trying to banish the sadness from her.

  Heather smiled. “He will be welcome,” she said. “People have been lost since Father Duffy passed away. It will give some heart back to the castle.”

  She thought of the old priest, dead for a month now. He had been preaching until the end. He could never understand why she wouldn’t accept everything that he said as gospel, like she had when she was young.

  She had changed, that was all.

  She could no longer accept everything she was told at face value. Father Duffy had preached to her all her life that the only way was piety and penance, but she knew better. She had seen the goodness in others – look how the gypsies had taken her in and delivered her here.

  She knew that there were other pleasures in life, too.

  She missed the pleasures of the flesh, of being driven mad with desire. The church told her it was a sin, but she knew better. It was a sacrament of its own.

  That was why she could never marry. Oh, they had tried. For years, they pestered her with marriage proposals, but she had refused them all.

  There was only one man for her.

  Only one man who could drive her mad with lust.

  Only one man she loved.

  Heather gazed at her son. She must try, for his sake. She must find a way out of this labyrinth of sadness she had entered, before she lost her way completely.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Knox knocked on the door to the main hall, entering without waiting for a response.

  There he was. The laird. Sitting in his usual spot next to the fire. Two great hounds lay snoozing at his feet, basking in the warmth.

  It had been a cold winter. Snow had fallen deeply; Dunnottar Castle was almost inaccessible with it. He had ordered men to shovel it daily, but he was suffering himself. He was an old, old man now. The arthritis had gripped him severely; there were days where he could barely get out of bed. He really shouldn’t be doing the day to day management anymore. That should be the task of the laird.