by Elise Ramsay
Highland Hearts of the Clan Kincaid
by
3 Novellas and a Short Story Prelude
©Copyright 2016 Elise Ramsay
All Rights Reserved
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2016 Elise Ramsay. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Lachlan
Gunn
Cullen
Darach
Trapped in Time Preview
Lachlan
Highlanders Choice
& the
Runaway Bride
Highland Hearts of the Clan Kincaid
by
©Copyright 2016 Elise Ramsay
All Rights Reserved
Chapter 1
Something had made him lower his bow, but what? Lachlan Kincaid squinted at his quarry. The red deer hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d first raised his bow and silently drawn back his arrow. There it stood, blissfully unaware of its fate as it munched contentedly at the scrubby, rough Highland grass.
Lachlan held his breath and stayed his arm. Something was different, something teased the hair on the back of his neck and raised his pulse. The deer was forgotten and he did not yet raise his bow again, but let his eyes keenly roam the vast and wild landscape. Bit by bit he scanned the purple heather in search of whatever it was that had so sharply drawn his attention away from the hunt.
Slowing his breathing, Lachlan focussed his mind. Hunting and tracking, for him, relied upon this deep inner calm. He softened his focus from a stare to a gaze and let his eyes drift slowly, left to right, then right to left.
In this almost meditative state, Lachlan’s senses became heightened. He began to pick out the scents of the rich, boggy earth so particular to his beloved North West Highlands. Its wet dankness was earthy and sharp, and yet there was a sweetness to it. This sweetness was made richer by the ferns, the blaeberries, the heather, and the willow herb, which grew everywhere in abundance.
The late summer day was unusually warm for this part of the Highlands, and as still and quiet as a grave. Lachlan could almost sense his heartbeat, it was so relaxed, even his breathing seemed to pause. There would come the point, he knew from experience, where his concentrated stillness would suddenly, yet gently, bring his sense into the sharpest focus.
It had taken him many years of self-training to get to this level and, at just twenty-two years, Lachlan knew there was none better than he in the hunt. He could feel the swell of calm almost warming his wind-browned skin, and knew that he was close. Even the cry of a Hen Harrier, circling high above the steepness of his vantage point on the rugged hillside in search of grouse, could not wrench him from his perfect state.
Lachlan shifted his gaze further out towards the distant hills, long past the still grazing red deer, and then, snap! There it was! Lachlan raised up from his crouching position, his heart beginning to thud as he stared hard out across the vastness and down into a valley track between two of the most distant hills. The movement which had first caught him was once more apparent.
A woman, well, a young lassie really, was running along the track as if the Devil himself were chasing her. Lachlan leaned forward. As if the tiny movement would make his vision of this running wild thing somehow clearer. Wild thing? Was she really? There was something in her gait which told him no. She was upright and lean, and very, very fast. He fancied he could see something shifting about her back and shoulders as she ran, her long golden hair flying out behind her. He squinted once more, to sharpen his gaze and decided that it was a bow slung across her shoulders that he could see moving about her. Was she hunting? As he watched her, Lachlan felt stirred and disquieted by the sight. There was something about the way she ran. She was not hunting. She was not the hunter. She was the prey.
Effie’s heart pounded furiously and her breath came in ragged gasps, which dried her throat painfully. She could not understand why she had started to run so hard. It was just a feeling of being watched. Like a dark cloud passing over her soul, it cooled her heart and raised the hairs on her neck. Although she had scanned the area for another, neither man nor beast had been apparent. Still, she had started to run, and run like she was being chased. She felt sure now that whatever, or whoever, had been out there had been left behind. Mayhap she was safe and now well hidden. Effie’s pace had slowed to a fast walk and her breaths began to come slower and deeper. Despite the fact that the prickling of fear had ebbed away, she wasn’t taking any chances. Heading for the cover of the forest, she darted back and forth through the trees rather than take the barely trodden path. It was safer, in case her trackers had closed in on her. This way, she would not make it easy for them to find her. She hoped, without any real conviction, that she would never be found.
Stopping momentarily, she crouched down to pick some blaeberries from a thick clump. They would end her meal nicely, and there would be enough for the morning to break her fast.
Effie could hardly believe that she had managed to hang on to the rabbit she had caught earlier, whilst she had fled from her unknown watcher. She had only just plucked the arrow from its lifeless form and stowed it back into her sling when the creeping sensation of being watched had spread throughout her body.
Rising, Effie thrust the berries into her pocket, picked up her rabbit from the ground, and set off again. The brief respite and a handful of the sweet berries had fortified her, and she was moving at speed once more.
She wanted to get back to the safety of her hiding place. The first real shelter she had found since she had bolted like a frightened deer from the wealth and comfort of her ancestral home, just three days and nights before.
Looking down at herself as she moved ever forward, she could hardly recognise the lassie she was becoming. Her once cream sleeves were now raggedly torn and dappled with stains. The stiff plaid of her bodice was not as close fitting as it had been when she had first run. She was already losing weight. Effie’s legs felt weary and yet stronger than they ever had. They were tightened by the constant movement, the climbing, and the running.
Slowing a little as she reached her shelter, Effie’s eyes darted to and fro as she scanned for intruders. Reaching the tiny, deserted one room cottage, she stopped dead and listened.
Nothing, all was quiet.
The cottage was almost entirely shrouded from view, its walls and roof overgrown with ivy, whilst heavily fruited rowans grew in abundance all around. The red berries had warmed her heart when she first saw them, drawing her eye. Still, she wondered to herself how she had ever found it, so well hidden was the tiny haven.
She closed her eyes, held her breath and listened. Letting her senses feel for any intruder, any movement or for the watchful eye of a predator.
There was nothing, just the stirring of the wind and the scent of the heather.
Deeming it safe, Effie gently pushed at the rough wooden door and scurried inside. She dropped her rabbit and unslung her bow. For what seemed like hours b
ut must have been much less, Effie watched through the small, camouflaged window. There was no movement other than the odd small creature going about its daily routine. She was safe, at least for now. Kneeling at the tiny hearth, she began to rub the dry tinder she had piled at the side of the fireplace. Glad that she had been shown as a child, by her older brother, how to start a fire this way. Still she did not relish the time and energy she knew it would take. Effie did not light fires for herself; Effie inhabited rooms where fires already burned warm and bright, constructed and lit by the hands of the young lassies who worked silently about Mackinnon Castle. She had never, until now, wondered much about the lives of the people on the outskirts of her Clan. The people who lived with them and worked for them, whose lives revolved around the lives of her and her family. Now, with a shudder, she realised that the lives of those people had more safety, stability and warmth than she might ever know again. At this, the tears flowed freely. She choked and sobbed as she rubbed the dry tinder together as hard and as fast as she could. Blindly, she continued. Her meal and comfort for the night depended on it. The summer, although still warm in the daylight, was coming to an end, and the temperature at night would drop dramatically. Effie wanted a warm fire and a full belly before the sun went down completely.
Her fear and isolation both drove her on and held her back. She could not help but wonder if she had done the right thing. Had running really been the only course she could have taken? Was the life she might face now be even worse than the fate that had awaited her in her warm, safe rooms in one of the most beautiful castles in the North Western Highlands?
Chapter 2
Lachlan could not shake the vision of the lassie from his mind. He had lost the red deer, which had seemingly disappeared in the brief moments of his study of the running beauty. Now, how in the world did he know she was a beauty? She had been so far away from him that he had barely made out her form and her long golden hair. And yet, he felt it. He was still disquieted by what he had seen. Yes, he believed her to be running in fear, and this indeed had bothered him, but there was more to it. He had felt stirred by her; the way she ran, the upright gait, the determination. Was this what made him feel she was beautiful? Perhaps. Rising to leave, Lachlan realised that there really was only one way to settle the question. It filled him with anticipation, he would have to track her and find her. As he stared out over the moors, he had the distinct feeling that he would not be the only person tracking her.
Clomping footsteps coming through the heather sharply interrupted his thoughts and he pulled his mind back to the present to await the approach of his cousin, Rory. The two young men had been out hunting together, spending the previous two nights under the stars. Rory had set up on the other side of the hill for his hunt. In his heart, Lachlan knew that Rory was in competition with him, albeit a gentle one. Ordinarily, the competition would have been in vain, and today would have been no different had he not been distracted by the lassie.
“What did you catch Lachlan?” a smiling, ruddy-faced Rory could clearly see that Lachlan had nothing. “I, for myself, have grounded a stunning big red deer!” Rory continued.
“Nothing, cousin! I have failed miserably where you have succeeded!” Lachlan laughed heartily and thrust an arm around his companion, all the while knowing that Rory had bagged the deer he should have slain.
Lachlan wanted to cut their hunt short. He wanted to be alone so that he could track the lassie. They had planned a third night out beneath the stars, but he knew his cousin would be easily persuaded back to the relative comforts of Kincaid Castle.
“Come, cousin, let’s strap the deer onto one of the horses and return to Kincaid! I am in need of some comforts.”
Rory raised an eyebrow at his cousin.
“No, Rory -- that is not the sort of comfort I meant!”
“What other sort is there?” Rory was already developing a lusty aspect, perhaps planning what treats his own evening may hold in store if they should return to Kincaid. Lachlan laughed loudly at him and boomed, “Well, cousin, you must find your comforts where you will!”
Buoyed up by the ease with which Rory had been persuaded, Lachlan began to plan his night time hunt in his head.
The night was now falling. It had taken too long to set her fire and cook the meat and her stomach had tightened in anticipation of the food. The smell of it cooking had been almost unbearable but at last, it was ready and she sat down to eat. Effie tore hungrily into the well-cooked, and very hot, rabbit. With a warm fire and a meal burning at her very mouth, Effie felt her old determination returning. She would not be treated as cattle to be traded! She had done the right thing! In the cold hour, it had taken to get her fire roaring, more tears had fallen as a feeling of hopelessness had threatened to swallow her whole. It was gone now, at least for the moment and she munched hungrily on the hot meat.
Running from the only home she had ever known was the most terrible decision of her seventeen years. She could not shake the memory of her father bellowing at her as she, fully on her knees, had begged him to take her own feelings into his heart. Despite loving him, Effie had feared her father all her life. As she had blossomed into womanhood, she had known that her father would rush to seek a match for her. She also knew, as surely as the day would break and night would fall, that this match would be to his liking, and not hers.
However, not even in her worst nightmares could she have contrived for herself a match so truly vile. She had wept to the point of heartbreak when her father had announced that she was to marry Tormod Sinclair. The gossip she had heard of him from women of all stations in life in and around Mackinnon Castle had been enough to turn her white. At seventeen years, she knew enough about men to know that they were divided into kind, cruel, and somewhere in between.
As a growing lassie, she had cherished in her heart the hope that her match for life would be of the kind variety. Tormod Sinclair not only fell squarely into the cruel camp, but he would easily have been accepted as its leader. She had seen him at the castle before, but when his appearances became much more frequent, Effie had known what was to come.
Tormod entirely ignored Effie, in that he never bothered to speak to her. However, she had begun to notice that on passing her in the castle grounds or corridors, he felt no shame in openly staring at her. He would stop and look her up and down as if appraising her dress. Then, a dark thundercloud would drift across his large, staring eyes, and he would run a big, ugly tongue across his dry, fat lips.
That look would have frightened the bravest of women, and Effie certainly did not think herself that, for it was a look which held such cruelty and a promise of pain. She had overheard whispered tales of his violence and lewdness towards local women. Yes, she knew there were men out there in the big world who would think nothing of taking the worst kind of advantage, but the tales she had heard of him were yet crueller still. In truth, she had already been terrified of Tormod Sinclair, long before her self-serving father had thrown the awful news of her fate at her.
“I tell you, lass, you will marry him!” She could easily recall the anger in her father’s voice. She had instantly objected, instantly wept, when he had told her she was to belong, for the rest of her life, to that filthy, evil brute.
“But Father, please, I beg of you, for he is such an awful man! You must know what he is. If I have heard of it at seventeen years, then you must know the whole of it!”
“I need this union to take place, lass, and take place it shall! This marriage will strengthen us. We need the firm ties to the Sinclair Clan, and this union will be the firmest of ties. I will hear no more snivelling from you,” he had finished with a sneer.
Effie had always known that her father had held her in low regard. She was female after all, but she had always imagined that he would protect her had she needed him to. In truth, a situation whereby she had needed protection had never arisen before in her life. It felt like such a cruel twist that she had waited her full seventeen years before havin
g a chance to test his love for her, and in this of all things, he had let her down so dreadfully.
“Father, do you care nothing for me at all? For what pain I shall suffer at his hands!” She had cried out her anguish in vain hope at his reddening face. With her final utterance, he rose from his seat, strode across the room to her, and slapped her across the face.
“There, lass. There’s your first feel of pain. If what you say is true, then you’d better get used to it!”
Effie had fled from the room, her cheek already reddened and beginning to show the bruise that the first angry blow of her life had caused.
In the weeks following, she had stayed in the shadows of Mackinnon Castle. She now feared her father almost as much as the repulsive Tormod. Tormod! With his fat, misshapen body and his ugly leering face. Close up, he smelled almost as if he were rotting. How long must it have been since he had last taken the waters of the loch? The very thought of being his, of having to sleep next to him night after night for the rest of her life, drove her almost to insanity.
Her mother had been of little use. She soothed and patted, but did not help. She would let her daughter be sold off like cattle to the cruellest man in the Highlands. Effie now knew what it meant to have a broken heart.
As the weeks had passed, Effie could see no plan to evade her fate. She could not even entice another to marry her. Who would? Her father was the Chieftain of the Mackinnon Clan and none would go against him, only to be slain at his saying. And so it was, just ten days and nights before her wedding had been to take place, that Effie saw an opportunity to run, and had taken it. With just the clothes she stood in, and her thickest plaid shawl, she had taken her bow, her arrows, and her small knife, and had slunk away in the late afternoon, seemingly unnoticed. However, she knew that her disappearance would not have gone unnoticed for long and that her father would have his best trackers out looking for her.
